Chapter Eight: Unexpected Visitor

I woke up before the sun, my heart already racing. For a second, I didn’t know why—then I remembered the creak.

That sound.

It had been so quick. So quiet. But it had snapped through the silence like a twig under a boot. I hadn’t imagined it. I was sure of that now. Something… or someone… had been there.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening. My heartbeat thudded loud in my ears, counting the seconds. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing.

Eventually, I slipped out of bed.

The hallway was cool beneath my bare feet. I moved slowly, avoiding the spots I’d learned creaked the most.

The doors and windows were closed. Nothing moved except the dust motes spinning through the pale morning light.

I stood there longer than I meant to, holding my breath like that might reveal something. Footsteps. A click. A whisper of movement.

Nothing.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tight over my chest. Maybe it had been Uncle Max. Maybe he’d finished chopping wood early.

Or maybe I just imagined the creak. Stress did weird things to people. And I had plenty of that.

I forced myself to exhale.

I had training with Uncle Max. That was the routine now.

I changed quickly and headed downstairs, expecting the usual early-morning silence, maybe the clink of weights or the sound of Uncle Max already cooking breakfast.

Instead, I stopped so abruptly in the kitchen doorway that my brain stalled for a second.

My mom was sitting at the table. She had both hands wrapped around a mug of tea, her hair pulled back loosely, as she usually did on weekends.

I stared, not expecting her to just appear in the middle of the woods without a warning.

“What—” My voice cracked, embarrassingly loud in the quiet kitchen.

She looked up and smiled. It wasn’t a wide or confident smile. It was the kind of smile you give when you’re unsure of how welcome you are.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then my gaze flicked to Uncle Max. He sat across from her, calm and composed, lifting his mug like this was just another morning.

“You didn’t tell me she was coming,” I said, still not fully convinced this was real.

He lowered his mug. “You didn’t ask.”

I shot him a look. Traitor.

My mom stood slowly and opened her arms, careful, hesitant—like she was giving me an exit if I wanted one. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

That was one word for it.

I let her hug me. At first, my body stayed rigid, every muscle locked, like I was bracing for something to go wrong. Then, without my permission, it leaned into her. My forehead pressed lightly against her shoulder.

She smelled like home—laundry detergent, peppermint tea, and something warm and familiar that made my chest tighten painfully.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed that smell.

“I didn’t know you were allowed visitors in an exile,” I muttered to myself, still reeling from the surprise of seeing her here.

She pulled back, hands lingering on my arms like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Her eyes scanned my face, my posture. The way I stood straighter now, more alert. The faint bruises from training and the faint lines of muscle in my arms that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve changed,” she said quietly, more to herself than to me.

I shrugged. “It’s been more than a month since you last saw me,” I said bitterly.

The environment in the room had turned awkward to say the least. Mom asked questions carefully, spacing them out, watching my reactions as we all sat together for breakfast.

“How are you sleeping?”

“Fine.”

“Are you eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, sharper this time, the words snapping out of me before I could stop them. “You don’t have to interrogate me.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. She looked at me over the rim of her mug instead. Really looked at me. My hands were curled slightly on the table, fingers flexing unconsciously. Ready. Like I was braced for impact.

“You don’t look fine,” she said quietly.

I stabbed my toast harder than necessary. “I look alive. That should count.”

The words hung between us, heavier than I meant them to be.

Uncle Max cleared his throat and stood, picking up his mug. “I’ll be outside.”

The back door closed behind him, leaving the room suddenly smaller.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

My mom set her mug down, both hands wrapping tightly around it now, like she needed something solid to anchor herself. She didn’t look at me right away. She stared into the tea as if it might give her the right words.

“…I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

I laughed under my breath. Not because it was funny. But because if I didn’t, something ugly might slip out instead. “For what?”

She flinched, just a little. “For sending you here. For not explaining. For—” Her voice cracked. “For a lot of things.”

I stared at the table, tracing the grain in the wood with my eyes. I followed one thin crack all the way to the edge, like if I focused hard enough, I wouldn’t have to look at her. When I finally did, it felt like lifting something heavy off my chest.

She looked… different. Smaller, somehow. Older than I remembered. Like the years had finally caught up with her all at once. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes I didn’t remember noticing before. Her shoulders were hunched, like she’d been bracing against an invisible weight for years and had never put it down.

“You didn’t send me here,” I said quietly. “You exiled me.”

Her eyes filled instantly. “That’s not—Nova, that’s not what I—”

“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” I cut in. My chest felt tight, the words tumbling out faster now. “You just decided I was too much. Too reckless. Too hard to deal with.”

“That’s not true,” she said quickly. “I never thought you were—"

“Then why did it feel like you were getting rid of me?”

The question hung between us.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her jaw tightened, her eyes dropping to the floor like she was searching for the right answer there. Then finally she said, “Because I was scared.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself. “You’re always scared.”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I hate that about myself.”

That stopped me.

She pushed her mug aside and folded her hands together, knuckles white. “Every time the school called… every time you came home angry or fired up about something being unfair… every time I saw that look in your eyes when you talked about right and wrong—” Her voice trembled. “It was like watching your father all over again.”

My stomach twisted painfully.

“You’re not being fair,” I said, but my voice lacked its earlier sharpness.

“I know.” She looked at me then, really looked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “But I couldn’t stop seeing him. The way he couldn’t let things go. The way he always believed the truth mattered more than his own safety.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.

“He thought if he just pushed hard enough, he could help make the word a better place,” she continued, shaking her head. “The world doesn’t reward people like that. It chews them up instead.”

“That’s not—” I started, but she pressed on.

“And when I look at you,” she said softly, “I see that same fire. That same refusal to look away. And I panic. Because I miss him so much, Nova. Every day.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “And I don’t think I could survive losing you too.”

The words hit deeper than anger ever had. I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

“I miss him too,” I said quietly. “You’re not the only one.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, her shoulders trembling slightly. “I know… I know it’s hard for you too. And I—” She paused, her voice faltering. “I didn’t know how to let you be you without feeling terrified. Every choice you make… every risk you take… it scares me.”

I pressed my hands into my knees, the anger bubbling up again. “So instead of trusting me, you boxed me in. Made me feel like I couldn’t breathe in my own life.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I never meant to make you feel trapped. I just… I was trying to keep you safe. I thought if I could control it all, if I could watch, guide, contain… maybe nothing bad would happen. Maybe I could stop history from repeating itself.”

“Mom, you used tracking apps, I had curfews, check in calls every few hours and all the rules around me made me feel like I couldn’t even breathe in my own house." I take a deep breath and say looking at her "You can’t control everything mom. You can’t stop me from being me. And sending me here… it felt like you were giving up on me before I even had a chance to show you who I am.”

Her hands trembled in her lap. “I wasn’t giving up on you. I… I just didn’t know what else to do. Every day, I miss him, and I see you and—God, it’s like losing him all over again.”

I felt my chest tighten. “…I get that. I do. But you didn’t have to exile me to prove it. You could’ve trusted me, even a little.”

Her lips trembled, and she looked down at the table, ashamed. “I know. I see it now. I wish I’d done things differently. I was too scared to do anything right. And I—” She swallowed hard. “I sent you away because I didn’t want to lose you the way I lost him. I was selfish, in my fear.”

The words hit harder than I expected. Like something slammed straight into my chest, knocking the air out of me.

“I wasn’t trying to punish you or anything,” she said, tears spilling freely now. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By not trusting me?”

“By not trusting the world,” she shot back. “By not trusting that it wouldn’t take you too.”

We stood there, facing each other, breathing hard. The air felt thick with everything we’d never said out loud. All the arguments we’d swallowed. All the silences we’d let grow.

“I feel like you stopped seeing me,” I said finally, my voice quieter now. “Like you don’t see me anymore. Just what I might become.”

Her shoulders slumped, like the fight drained out of her all at once. “…I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Because you never asked,” I said.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

The admission felt fragile.

“I’m not him,” I said. “But I’m not going to pretend the things he cared about don’t matter either.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” she whispered. “I just want you safe.”

My throat tightened. “…I know.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

“I don’t know how to stop being afraid,” she said finally. “I wake up every day terrified I’ll get a call. That I’ll hear your name on the news. That I’ll lose you the same way I lost him.” She took a shaky breath. “Sending you here wasn’t me giving up on you. It was me hoping someone else could teach you how to survive without me panicking every second.”

I thought of Uncle Max. His silence. His discipline.

“You should’ve told me,” I said.

“I know,” she replied softly. “I would do a lot of things differently if I could.” She hesitated. “…I’m sorry.”

“I’m still mad,” I said.

“I know,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to be.”

That surprised me more than anything else.

Outside, the faint sound of wood splitting echoed through the trees.

Training would still happen. Secrets would still exist. The creak from the night before still lingered in the back of my mind.

But for the first time since I’d arrived here, the anger in my chest felt… lighter.

Not gone.

Just quieter.