The Hidden Truth

Chapter 1: The Weight of Assumptions Liam sat at the back of the classroom, head down, pretending to take notes. The snickering from the other side of the room was impossible to ignore. "Hey, Liam," a voice called out, mockingly sweet. It was Ryan, the self-appointed king of insults. "You bringing your dads to career day? Maybe they can tell us how they… split responsibilities." The last part was punctuated by laughter from his group of friends. Liam’s grip tightened around his pen, but he didn’t look up. He’d learned a long time ago that reacting only made things worse. Instead, he focused on the page in front of him, the scribbled words blurring together as heat flushed his cheeks. The bell rang, a sound he usually welcomed, but today it felt more like a starting gun. He hurried out of the classroom, avoiding eye contact, and headed for his locker. "Ignore them," a voice said behind him. Liam turned to see Mia, his only real friend, leaning casually against the lockers. "They’re idiots." "Easy for you to say," he muttered, spinning the lock on his combination. Mia frowned. "You’re not seriously letting them get to you again, are you? Come on, Liam. They’re just jealous because you’re… you." Liam slammed his locker shut. "Jealous of what? Getting called fake every day? Being the school punching bag? Yeah, sure, I’m living the dream." Mia fell silent. She didn’t have a response to that, and Liam didn’t blame her. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, muttering something about needing to get home. --- At home, the smell of garlic and herbs greeted him as soon as he walked in. "Hey, kiddo!" called James, who was standing at the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. Michael was setting the table, humming a tune Liam vaguely recognized from their Saturday morning cleaning playlist. "Hey," Liam replied, dropping his bag by the door. "Rough day?" Michael asked, glancing up from the table. His tone was casual, but his eyes were full of concern. Liam shrugged. "Same as always." James turned off the stove and wiped his hands on a towel. "Want to talk about it?" "Nope." Michael stepped closer, resting a hand on Liam’s shoulder. "You know, we’re here if you do. No judgment, no pressure." Liam looked away. He didn’t want to talk. Not about school, not about the bullies, and definitely not about the crushing weight of expectations. He felt like he was living in a fishbowl, constantly scrutinized for something he couldn’t control. "Thanks," he said quietly, brushing past them and heading to his room. --- Liam sat on his bed, staring at his phone. His social media feed was a minefield of pictures and posts from classmates—fake smiles, perfect lives. He scrolled past a photo of his ex-girlfriend, Emma, laughing with her new boyfriend. His chest tightened as he remembered their last conversation. "It’s not you, Liam," she’d said, eyes filled with pity. "It’s just… I can’t handle the rumors. I’m sorry." He’d wanted to argue, to tell her she was stronger than that, but in the end, he’d just let her go. What was the point? A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Dinner’s ready," James said. "I’m not hungry," Liam replied. There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. Liam let out a shaky breath. He hated how much it hurt, how powerless he felt. All he wanted was to live his life without constantly proving himself. But maybe that was too much to ask. ---