Ezekiel's POV
The front door slammed behind me as I stumbled into the empty house, my back hitting the wooden frame like I needed something solid to keep me upright. The familiar darkness greeted me, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator. Mom wouldn't be home for hours, still pulling another double shift at the hospital.
Usually, I craved this kind of solitude. Tonight, the silence pressed against my chest like a weight I couldn't shake off.
Ximena's broken voice echoed through my skull, each word sharp enough to draw blood.
"I can't help it, Ezekiel! I'm not like my brother. I hate this body, I hate being me! No matter what I do, I'll never be beautiful enough."
The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. Her pain had been so raw, so real, and I'd stood there like a complete ass, watching her fall apart.
Because I was part of the problem.
