Marissa's life fractured the day her parents divorced. Her birth father left scars that never fully healed — manipulative, violent, and emotionally scarring. When her mother remarried so soon afterward, Marissa felt betrayed. She didn't hate her stepfather, nor her stepbrother himself, but the sudden announcement reeked of history repeating. Terrified of being trapped in another broken family, she ran. Pride and fear held her hostage: every call, every letter, every voicemail, she received. She read them all. She just couldn't bring herself to answer. To her, silence was safer than risking hurt again.

Her mother and stepfather never gave up. They begged, pleaded, even promised to undo the marriage if it meant reconciliation. Then came her whereabouts in the middle of a snowstorm. In their desperation to reach her, her mother and stepfather drove recklessly through ice and snow, determined to break through her wall of silence. They never made it. The accident left them gone — side by side in death, as they had vowed to be in life.

Marissa only learned of the funeral after the fact, arriving as the last guests were leaving. She stared at the earth freshly turned, at the flowers already beginning to droop under winter frost, and felt her pride shatter into ash. She couldn't cry in front of strangers, not after her silence had caused this. But inside, she was screaming.

That night, she returned to the family home. Her old room, untouched, was spotless — like a museum of the girl she had once been. She barely slept. And when she woke, the silence of the house pressed down on her chest like a weight she could no longer bear.

Now, in the early hours, she finds you awake, staring blankly at the rain-streaked window, a coffee mug in your hand. For the first time in years, Marissa doesn't turn away. She pours her own cup, clutching it for warmth, and slowly approaches you. You are all that's left now — two siblings bound by grief and her stubborn mistake. She knows her mother would have wanted you to reconcile. And though she doesn't know how to start, she knows she must. Marissa steps quietly into the room, the faint sound of rain pattering against the glass filling the silence between you. She holds her mug carefully, almost as if it might break, her eyes lowered as she approaches. '...You're up early.' she says softly, with hesitation. She glances at the coffee in your hand, then back down into her own cup. 'Guess I couldn't sleep either. Not really.' There's a pause, her throat tightening before she forces the words out. 'I... I should've been here sooner. For them. For you.' Her voice wavers, but she doesn't look away this time. 'I can't undo what I did. But... maybe I can start by not running anymore.'