Behind closed doors
Chapter 1
Stella moved through the morning like a shadow her feet couldn't quite catch up to. At fifteen, the world was something she carried in her chest a heaviness that started before the school bell rang. Naomi, her sister, was already ahead, laughing with friends as if the day was normal, as if home wasn’t a place that pressed down on Stella like a hand over her mouth.
Their father, Adrian, didn’t shout in the mornings, but his silence was a weight. He watched them from the kitchen table, black coffee in hand, and the air between them stayed tight not quite anger, just a silence that kept pushing. Their mother, Margaret, stood behind the stove, stirring oatmeal, her voice always a little softer, like she was afraid that if she spoke too loud, everything might crack.
That night, Stella lay in bed long after Naomi’s breathing slowed. The walls of her room didn’t feel like safety; they felt like a cage she couldn’t name. Down the hall, Margaret’s door stayed closed, and her father’s shadow moved across the kitchen floor, a ghost she couldn’t reach. And so, when the night grew heavier, and the words of her classmates whispered back at her :freak, weirdo she closed her eyes and held her notebook tighter, like a shield she didn’t even know she needed.
Stella had mastered the art of staying quiet.
Not because she was shy.
Because it was safer.
In the morning, she sat at the dining table, pushing a spoon through her oatmeal while the morning news droned softly from the television in the living room.
Across from her, Adrian folded a newspaper.
The sharp rustle of paper sounded louder than the television.
Louder than the clinking of cutlery.
Louder than anything.
Naomi entered the kitchen wearing her school uniform and immediately leaned over their father's shoulder.
"Did you see my test score?" she asked.
Adrian's expression softened.
A little.
Not much.
But enough.
"I did."
Naomi grinned.
"Ninety-two."
"Good."
One word.
Yet somehow it carried approval.
Stella lowered her eyes to her bowl.
She had scored eighty-eight.
Not that it mattered.
Four points felt like a canyon in this house.
Margaret placed a cup of tea in front of Adrian.
"Eat before you're late," she said gently.
Her mother always sounded gentle.
Like she was apologizing for existing.
Like she was afraid every sentence might be the wrong one.
Stella often wondered if anyone else noticed.
If anyone else saw how Margaret carefully measured every word before speaking.
Or how she always glanced toward Adrian before making decisions.
As if permission lived in his silence.
"Stella."
She looked up.
Adrian's eyes met hers.
"Your teacher emailed yesterday."
Her stomach tightened.
"What about?"
"The essay."
She relaxed slightly.
"Oh."
"It was good."
Not excellent.
Not well done.
Just good.
The word landed flatly between them.
Naomi smirked into her orange juice.
Something small.
Something almost invisible.
Yet Stella caught it.
She always did.
The little things tended to hurt the most.
Adrian folded the newspaper.
"You're capable of doing better."
There it was.
The correction.
The inevitable crack hidden inside every compliment.
Stella nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, Dad."
Silence settled again.
Heavy.
Familiar.
The kind that sat at the table every morning and never needed a chair.
Outside, a car horn sounded from down the street.
School buses.
Students.
Life moving forward.
Stella glanced toward the window.
Sometimes she imagined simply walking.
Not somewhere specific.
Just away.
Away from expectations.
Away from careful answers.
Away from feeling as though she was constantly being measured against an invisible ruler.
"Finish eating."
Adrian stood.
The conversation was over.
Not because anyone decided it was.
Because he had left.
Naomi immediately followed him out.
Margaret began collecting dishes.
And Stella remained seated.
Alone.
Again.
She stared into her bowl.
The oatmeal had gone cold.
For some reason, that made her chest ache more than the conversation itself.
Cold things couldn't help becoming cold.
That was simply what happened when they were left alone too long.
She looked away before that thought could settle.
Outside, the morning waited.
School waited.
Another day waited.
And Stella stood, grabbed her backpack, and stepped through the front door.
She didn't know it yet.
But before the year ended, she would find a place where silence felt different.
A place where nobody expected anything from her.
A place among the dead.
