She shut her eyes again, forcing her voice into a harsh whisper. "I said—get away from . Right now."
The words felt like acid in her throat, but she knew better.
Knew what people saw when they looked at her.
A monster.
A wretched thing wrapped in human skin.
She covered her eyes with her hand, pulling herself upright, brushing the dust from her clothes with chanical precision. She did not look back.
She could not look back.
The children were surely trembling. Not because of what just happened. Not because of anything else.
But because of her.
She bit her tongue, forcing down the sting rising in her chest.
And then—she turned to her parents.
Her golden eyes, though hidden now, burned with unspoken fury.
"What are they doing here?" she demanded, her voice sharper than intended. "And where are they? Do they not care about their children?"
She ant Ray.
She ant his brothers.
But before anyone could answer, a voice—smooth, laced with amusent—rose from behind her.
"Oh!".
Es spun around, her sharp gaze locking onto Ray, who stood there, his gloved hands clenched at his sides. His brothers stood beside him, their expressions just as cold as his voice when he finally spoke.
"Are they only my responsibility?" His tone was clipped, simring with restrained anger.
Es’s own temper flared, matching his intensity. Her voice ca out hoarse, laced with frustration. "Why the hell did you bring the children here? Didn’t I tell you to hide them?"
Ray scoffed, his golden eyes darkening. "Hide them? And where exactly, Es? In hell?"
Their words crackled like fire eting oil, ready to ignite into sothing dangerous.
But before they could spiral into another heated argunt, a sudden knock echoed through the space.
Both of them froze, their gazes snapping toward the source of the sound.
Es’s father stood there, his expression impassive, but his grip on the small boy in his arms was firm. Beside him, her mother cradled the little girl, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Their voices cut through the thick tension like a blade.
"Do you two even realize where you’re fighting?"
Es and Ray remained silent.
"You’re arguing right in front of the children," her father continued, his tone edged with disappointnt. "What kind of parents are you?"
The words struck deeper than any wound.
Es’s gaze flickered to her parents, her voice dropping slightly. "Listen, I told you I wanted to et you, not them." Her tone was strained, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "So tell —what are they doing here?"
Ray, who had been silently watching her, suddenly let out a sharp laugh, full of disbelief. He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if trying to process her words. "Wait... what did you just say?" His voice was cold, laced with sothing dangerously close to betrayal. "These people? And tell , Es—when exactly did we beco these people?"
Es exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples in irritation. "Was that even a valid argunt?" Her patience was running thin, but she knew this conversation was far from over.
Ray t her gaze—but it wasn’t anger he saw. It was pain. Sharp, silent, and suffocating. Her body looked like it could collapse at any mont, but what cut deeper was the flicker of sothing else in her eyes. Sothing she had been trying to run from.
The children.
She couldn’t bear to look at them.
Not because they weren’t beautiful—oh no. That was exactly the problem. They were too beautiful. Too bright. Too alive. Just like Ray. Just like everything she thought she didn’t deserve.
She had made up her mind long ago: she wouldn’t look at them, wouldn’t hold them. She had already buried enough love. Her parents. Her spouses. The mories they all shared. All that love was already a war inside her, constantly threatening to shatter what little strength she had left.
And now... now they wanted her to look at her children?
How could she? How could anyone ask her to carry that?
She wasn’t blind—she knew she didn’t have much ti. And in that dwindling ti, they wanted her to et the children? To see them? To pretend she could carry the weight of their smiles and the sound of their tiny feet, only to leave them with nothing but silence?
She wasn’t that cruel.
Or maybe, just maybe...
They were the cruel ones.
Letting her see what she could never truly have.
Letting her feel love when she was already walking toward the edge.
Es rubbed her eyes with her right hand, the exhaustion slipping through the cracks of her frustration.
"Mom," she muttered, glancing toward her mother, her voice carrying that bitter edge of soone pushed too far. "I ca to et him, not them. I don’t even know what they’re doing here." Her voice trembled slightly. "Can you... please put the children away from ?"
There was a pause. The kind that settled in the room like a storm about to break.
Ray clenched his fists, his gloves creaking under the pressure. His jaw tightened, anger boiling under his skin—but he didn’t let it spill. Not yet. He wasn’t here for this fight.
Before Ray could respond, Es’s father stepped in, voice sharp and unrelenting.
"What are you saying to your mother?" he barked. "Talk to if you have sothing to say."
His voice filled the space like thunder. "The children are staying. They haven’t done anything wrong."
Es flinched. But her frustration didn’t falter.
"I’m here for a eting. Not to play house," she muttered under her breath. "I don’t want to do this."
Slap.
The sound echoed through the room.
"What the hell do you an by that?" her father snapped, his face livid. "They’re your children! Can’t you even look at them for a mont?"
Es’s eyes welled up, her voice cracking beneath the weight.
"I can’t even hear myself anymore," she whispered. "I’m tired. I’ve just co back from a life-and-death situation, and all you want from is to smile and play happy family. Don’t you get it?"
Her voice cracked, and this ti... even the children trembled slightly in their grandparents’ arms.
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