The next morning, I wake up with the weight of reality on my shoulders. Last night, I walked home because I needed to clear my head from the scene of Ethan in that room and the pain I felt seeing him so lost in himself. The kitchen, which used to be the heart of our home, is now enveloped in an uncomfortable silence. The knot in my stomach persists, a mix of disappointment, anger, and sadness.
I decide to confront the situation in the morning, but upon entering the kitchen, the atmosphere is already charged with tension. It feels heavy, like stepping into damnation. My mother and Michael, with marked dark circles, exchange looks that reveal sleepless nights. Ethan is home after three days out, indulging in substances. They brought a nurse home to take care of him; Michael and he arrived i
