A year passes by like the wind—swift, intangible, yet leaving its mark. Healing isn’t a straight path, and it isn’t easy. Of course, it isn’t. Some days, I feel like I’ve made progress, like I can breathe again. Other days, the weight of everything still presses down on me.
I started seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist, but I kept it to myself. No one knows. I found a private clinic, one that doesn’t ask too many questions, one that lets me exist without explaining myself to the world. It started with online consultations, just to test the waters, but soon the doctor suggested in-person sessions. "You might need medication," she said gently. "For the insomnia, the anxiety, the trauma."
I didn’t argue. I knew she was right.
Work keeps me grounded, or at least it used to. I still work at Summit River Corp., but I couldn't stay in SPD. Every hallway, every conference room, every little detail in that department reminded me of him. His presence lingered in ways I couldn’t escape, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
One day, I walked into HR, heart pounding. Mrs. Leona, the head of HR, looked up from her desk with a kind smile. "Mae, what brings you here?"
I hesitated before speaking. "I need to transfer," I finally said, gripping my hands together to keep them from shaking. "Anywhere but SPD."
Her smile faded as she studied me carefully. "I understand," she said, her voice softer now. "Give me some time to work on it. It will need approval, but I’ll make sure it’s considered seriously."
Of course, everything had to go through Mr. Leo and Mrs. Claire. I respected them both, and for some reason, Mr. Leo became the reason I didn’t lose faith in men entirely. There were still good ones in the world.
Summit River Corp. remained one of the best things in my life. Free lunch, a great pantry, food so good it almost felt like a luxury. Recently, they even added a "stress room"—a place designed like a mini arcade, complete with soundproof walls so employees could scream as loud as they wanted. I had yet to use it, but the idea of it alone made me feel a little lighter.
.
.
.
            At home, things stayed the same—until they didn’t.
One evening, Mom invited all of us over for dinner. It seemed normal enough at first. Amara was glowing, her hand resting on her belly as she shared the news: she was pregnant again. Another niece or nephew for me to love.
But then, just as we were settling in, Mom dropped something none of us expected.
"I’d like you all to meet someone," she said, gesturing toward the man sitting beside her. He was older, maybe in his sixties, well-dressed but unfamiliar. "This is William. I’m going to remarry."
Silence.
Mike was the first to react, his voice calm, unreadable. "I see." He nodded, as if this was nothing surprising, nothing life-altering. Maybe, having built his own family, he saw things differently now.
I, on the other hand, felt my stomach twist. A stranger. Living in our home.
I could barely hear the rest of the conversation. The engagement. The wedding plans. The quiet happiness in Mom’s voice. And then, before I even had time to process, they were married.
Now, he lives in the same house as me. He’s kind, I’ll admit that. And he seems to love Mom in his own way. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a stranger to me.
One evening, after avoiding the topic for weeks, I finally gathered the courage to bring it up.
"Mom, I think it’s time for me to move out," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me.
She stiffened. "Why?"
I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "I just… I don’t feel comfortable. He’s a good man, but I don’t know him. And I need my own space."
Her expression darkened, her hands clenching into fists. "No. This isn’t about space. You just refuse to accept him."
"That’s not true," I said quickly, but she wasn’t listening.
"You don’t want me to be happy," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. "You never have."
That broke me more than I expected. She didn’t know what I had been through. She didn’t know about the nights I spent staring at the ceiling, suffocating in memories I couldn’t escape. She didn’t know how hard I fought just to function.
And she never asked.
So now, the house feels even heavier, the air even tighter. We barely speak. Weeks pass in silence, and though I don’t say it out loud, I’m still thinking about leaving.
Because maybe… maybe home isn’t home anymore.
.
.
.
           The silence at home stretched on for weeks. Mom and I barely exchanged words, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Meals were quiet, the air thick with unspoken resentment. William—my stepfather—never interfered, but his presence alone made everything feel even more suffocating.
I knew I couldn’t keep living like this.
One evening, after another tense dinner, I locked myself in my room and stared out the window. The moon, as always, was there. Watching. Listening. The only thing that had been with me through everything.
"I can’t stay here anymore," I whispered to myself.
The decision had been forming for a while, but now it felt final. I needed to leave—not just for my comfort, but for my sanity.
The next morning, I walked into HR with a different kind of determination.
"Mrs. Leona," I started, standing in front of her desk, "is there any possibility for a position that requires relocation? Even if it’s temporary?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Relocation?"
I nodded. "I need a fresh start. Somewhere else."
She studied me for a moment before sighing. "I’ll check what’s available. But this is a big decision, Mae. Are you sure?"
"I am," I said, voice steady.
"You know," Mrs. Leona started, tapping her pen against the desk, "Mrs. Claire mentioned something before. She said the door is always open. Her offer still stands, even though things have settled."
I frowned. "Her offer?"
Leona gave me a pointed look. "I think it’s better if you meet her personally. She said she can help."
Help. That word sat heavily on my chest.
I didn’t want to put a burden on her again. She had already done too much—more than a boss ever should. She was the Co-CEO of Summit River Corp, and I was just… a junior employee. A temporary name in the grand scheme of things.
But desperation has a way of winning, no matter how much I fought it.
So, I found myself walking into her office, knocking lightly before stepping in.
Claire glanced up from her paperwork, her gaze softening the moment she saw me. "Mae." She set her pen down. "I was wondering when you’d come."
I hesitated, unsure where to start. "Mrs. Leona said you could… help?"
She leaned back in her chair, studying me for a moment before speaking. "I need a personal assistant."
I blinked. "You already have Evelyn."
Claire smiled slightly. "Evelyn handles everything in the office. My schedule, VIP clients, project meetings. She’s overloaded as it is. She mostly works with Mr. Ethan now." She tilted her head, watching my reaction carefully. "I need someone who can follow me anywhere and everywhere."
Her words made my stomach flip. I fell silent, my thoughts racing.
She noticed.
"You know," she continued, tapping her fingers against the desk, "I always forget to eat. Breakfast, lunch, even my vitamins. I need someone to remind me. Someone to keep me in check." She held my gaze. "I need you."
I swallowed, caught off guard. That… wasn't what I expected.
I still wasn’t satisfied. I needed a reason—something concrete—to tell my mom why I was moving out. "I was hoping for a relocation… work-related."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you asking for exactly that?"
I froze.
She leaned forward, her voice gentler now. "Why are you hesitating, Mae?"
Too many questions. And I needed to answer them carefully. I couldn’t share too much. I couldn’t let her know how badly I needed to leave.
So, I chose my words carefully. "I just… want a change of environment."
Her expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in her eyes.
"Then take this job," she said. "Work directly under me. Travel when I travel. Stay wherever I stay. Your relocation excuse? It’s right here."
I exhaled, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.
She was making this so easy. Too easy.
And that scared me the most.
The offer she gave me—new position, new place to live, a better income—was everything I had been searching for. But the weight of the decision pressed down on me. I needed to think it through. Twice. Three times. As many times as possible.
But Claire only gave me a week.
My mental health was already at its lowest, and the medication effects weren’t helping. The drowsiness made it hard to focus, especially if I skipped a dose. How was I supposed to handle a new job when I was barely keeping myself together?
I hadn’t even made it three days into my thinking period when an unsaved number texted me.
“Are you still thinking?”
I frowned, typing back. “Who is this?”
A quick reply. “You always ask that.” Then, a cute angry sticker.
I stared at the screen. Something about the message felt oddly familiar.
“Mrs. Claire?”
She sent a thumbs-up emoji.
I blinked. That was odd. She had messaged me before, but from a different number. I hesitated before asking, “Did you change your contact number?”
A second later, my phone rang.
I answered, bringing it to my ear.
“I didn’t change my number,” Claire said smoothly. “This one is personal. The other is for work.”
I nodded in understanding—only to realize it was a phone call, and she couldn’t see me.
“Why are you quiet?” she asked.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I nodded… forgot it was a call.”
She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that caught me off guard. I swallowed. It sounded… cute.
There was a brief pause before she spoke again, voice gentle. “Please don’t take too long to think.”
Then, just like that, she ended the call.
I stared at my phone, my heartbeat unsteady.
.
.
.
 
Tell them you know me, 
Speak my name with care. 
Lower your guard when you prepare— 
But will they even hear? 
 
Knock, knock, knock.
A rhythm lost in air, 
A sound too soft to break the locks 
That hold me in despair. 
 
The wall stands tall, unshaken, cold, 
No way inside, no bridge to hold. 
Without consent, without a key, 
I’m just a ghost outside—unseen.