Chapter 1
The Live stone apartment, tucked into the streets of Nottingham in England, stood tall under the soft morning sun. Inside, the Carter family moved through the silence — a quiet chaos woven into their routine.
Mrs. Carter was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, packing lunch boxes.
The home had four rooms, beige walls, and a photo wall by the main door — now slightly dusty but still filled with captured smiles from another time.
The door to one of the rooms off the living room creaked open.
Mr. Carter, in the middle of pulling on his socks, glanced up.
Mars stepped out in his school uniform; bag slung over his shoulders. He didn’t look at anyone. Just walked forward.
From the kitchen doorway, Mrs. Carter watched him.
A silent, knowing look passed between her and her husband.
She broke the quiet gently.
“Ethan, come. You’ll be late again.”
Another door opened.
Ethan, still half-asleep, stepped out in uniform, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Breakfast,” Mrs. Carter said softly.
He didn’t answer.
His gaze landed on the three packed lunch boxes on the counter.
One had a pink ribbon tied around it.
He stared.
A flicker of unreadable pain crossed his face.
Then, without a word, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and walked out, shutting the main door behind him.
The path to school was familiar — too familiar. But it felt distant now.
Each step on the pavement dragged memories behind it.
The three of them — Mars, Ethan, and Eliza — used to walk this road together.
Siblings. Loud. Messy. Alive.
Now it was just Ethan.
And silence.
Back at the apartment, Mr. Carter placed a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. She turned and hugged him tightly, quietly.
Down the hallway, past the living room, the door with the old sign still hung untouched:
“Busy Living Life”
The room behind it hadn’t been opened in months.
At school, Mars sat by the window in his Year 11 classroom, eyes distant as he watched the football ground outside. He didn’t speak. No one spoke to him. Everyone just took their seats.
In Year 9, Ethan sat in his own class — staring at the empty seat beside him.
The lessons started as the teacher walked in. One after another, the classes went on.
Lunchtime came.
And then came Skye.
Blonde bob. Sharp tongue. Always watching.
“Still brooding, Ethan?” she said, picking at her nails. “Thought you’d be over it by now.”
He didn’t answer.
She smiled. “You know, if you weren’t such a freak, maybe your sister wouldn’t have jumped.”
His hand clenched around his pen, knuckles white.
But he said nothing.
He stood, walked past her, and out of the classroom.
Skye rolled her eyes.
But something in her expression flickered.
Just for a second.
