The argument started before Caden even made it downstairs.
"Miguel, we can't keep doing this." Mamá Fiona's voice drifted up from the kitchen, tight with frustration. "It's been two weeks. He needs routine. He needs—"
"I know what he needs." Papá's voice was quieter, but strained. "But pushing him before he's ready—"
"And when will he be ready? When he's spent the entire semester hiding in his room?"
Caden paused on the landing, his hand gripping the banister. His stomach twisted. He knew what was coming. They'd had this conversation three times already this week.
He considered turning around, going back to bed, pretending he hadn't heard. But Mateo and Clara were already awake—he could hear them giggling in their room—and avoiding it would only delay the inevitable.
Caden descended the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last.
When he entered the kitchen, both parents turned to look at him. Mamá stood by the counter, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun, dark circles under her green eyes. Papá sat at the table, his brown hands wrapped around a coffee mug, his expression weary.
"Morning, mijo," Papá said carefully.
"Morning." Caden went straight for the cereal cabinet, avoiding eye contact.
"Caden, we need to talk," Mamá said.
"I know."
"About school."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Caden poured cereal into a bowl with more force than necessary, the sound unnaturally loud.
"Twilight Hills Academy starts at eight-thirty," Mamá continued, her voice gentler now. "We've already enrolled you. Your schedule is ready. You could start Monday—"
"I'm not going."
"Caden—"
"I said I'm not going." He slammed the cereal box down on the counter. Milk sloshed over the rim of his bowl.
Papá stood, approaching slowly like Caden was a spooked animal. "Mijo, we understand this is hard. After everything that happened—"
"You don't understand." Caden's voice cracked. "You weren't there. You didn't—" He stopped, his throat closing up.
"Then help us understand," Mamá said, moving closer. "Talk to us."
"I can't." The words came out strangled. "I can't go back to that. To people staring, whispering, thinking they know what happened. Thinking I'm—" He couldn't finish.
"This is a new town," Papá said firmly. "Nobody here knows anything about what happened in California. This is your fresh start, remember? That's why we moved."
"Fresh start." Caden laughed bitterly. "You think moving fixes it? You think I can just walk into a new school and pretend I'm normal? Pretend I don't wake up screaming every night? Pretend I'm not—" He stopped again, his hands shaking.
"You're not broken," Mamá said, her eyes glistening. "Caden, you're not broken."
"Then why do I feel like I am?"
The question hung in the air, unanswerable.
Papá reached for him, but Caden stepped back. "We're not trying to push you, mijo. But you can't hide forever. You need friends, structure, normalcy—"
"I don't need anything." Caden's voice rose. "I need everyone to stop acting like going to school will magically fix me. Like sitting in a classroom with a bunch of strangers will make me forget—" His breath hitched. "I can't. I can't do it."
"Caden, please—"
"No!" The word exploded out of him. "Stop pushing me! Stop trying to fix something that can't be fixed!"
Mamá flinched. Papá's jaw tightened.
"I'm not hungry," Caden muttered, abandoning his cereal and heading for the door.
"Caden, where are you going?" Mamá called after him.
"Out."
"It's about to rain—"
The door slammed behind him before she could finish.
The first drops hit his face as he reached the end of the driveway.
By the time he made it to the park, the sky had opened up completely.
Rain pounded down in sheets, soaking through his hoodie within seconds. The fabric clung to his skin, heavy and cold. The smell of wet earth rose around him, mixing with the sharp scent of ozone. Wind whipped through the trees, sending leaves spiraling to the ground.
Caden didn't care.
He walked until he found a bench tucked beneath a cluster of oak trees, their branches offering minimal shelter. He collapsed onto it, pulling his knees to his chest, letting the rain wash over him.
What's wrong with me?
The question circled his mind like a vulture. His parents were right—he couldn't hide forever. But the thought of walking into another school, of facing new people, new judgments, new potential disasters...
His chest tightened. His breathing quickened.
Not here. Not now.
He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to ground himself. Rain drummed against the bench, against his back, against the earth. The world felt too big and too small all at once.
You're pathetic, a voice whispered in his head. Running away like a coward. Again.
"Shut up," he muttered into his knees.
Dexter was right about you. You're weak. Broken. Worthless.
"Shut up."
Nobody's going to want to be your friend. They'll see right through you. They'll know—
"Shut UP!"
His voice echoed across the empty park, swallowed quickly by the rain.
Caden sat there, shaking, soaked to the bone, wondering how long he could stay before his parents came looking for him.
Wondering if he even wanted them to find him.
Jane's morning had started with a fight.
It always did these days.
"Jane, baby, I made you breakfast," Aurora called from the kitchen, her voice bright and hopeful. "Pancakes, just how you like them."
Jane didn't respond. She sat at the dining table, scrolling through her phone, her jaw tight.
"Jane?" Aurora appeared in the doorway, wearing a floral apron that had belonged to Jane's mother. Jane's stomach turned.
"I'm not hungry."
"You gotta eat something, sweetheart. You didn't have dinner last night—"
"I said I'm not hungry."
Aurora's smile faltered. "Jane, I'm just trying—"
"Trying to what?" Jane looked up, her dark eyes flashing. "Trying to replace her? Trying to play house like everything's fine?"
"Jane." Nicholas entered the room, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Don't talk to Aurora like that."
"Why not?" Jane stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "She's in Mom's kitchen, wearing Mom's apron, cooking Mom's recipes, and I'm supposed to just smile and pretend it's all good?"
"Your mother's been gone for three years," Nicholas said quietly. "Aurora is my wife now. She's trying to be part of this family—"
"She's not family!" Jane's voice cracked. "She's some woman you married because you couldn't stand being alone! Because you wanted to forget Mom ever existed!"
"That's not fair," Aurora said softly, her eyes glistening. "Jane, I'm not trying to replace your mother. I could never—"
"You're damn right you can't." Jane grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. "So stop trying."
"Jane Elizabeth—" Nicholas started.
"What, Dad? You gonna ground me for telling the truth? You gonna punish me for not pretending everything's perfect?"
Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, his hair sticking up in every direction. "Y'all really doing this before eight in the morning?"
"Stay out of it, Harry," Jane snapped.
"Nah, I'm good." Harry descended the stairs, his expression somewhere between annoyed and protective. "But maybe chill out on Aurora? She ain't done nothing to you."
"She married Dad six months after Mom died!"
"Two years after," Nicholas corrected quietly.
"Felt like six months." Jane's voice broke. "Felt like you couldn't wait to move on. To forget her. To act like she never—" She stopped, her throat closing.
Aurora stepped forward, her hand outstretched. "Honey, I know you're hurting. I know this is hard. But I'm not your enemy. I loved your mother too—she was my best friend—"
"Don't." Jane's voice was ice. "Don't you dare talk about her like you knew her better than me. Like you have any right—"
"Jane, that's enough," Nicholas said firmly.
"No, it's not enough!" Tears streamed down Jane's face now. "It's never enough! You moved on, Harry moved on, and I'm supposed to just forget? Supposed to call her 'Mom' and act like everything's fine?"
"Nobody's asking you to call me Mom," Aurora said gently. "I just want us to be able to exist in the same house without you hating me."
"Well, that's not happening."
Jane grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Nicholas called after her.
"Out."
"It's pouring rain—"
The door slammed.
Jane stood on the porch for a moment, letting the rain soak her, letting it mix with her tears. Her chest heaved with sobs she'd been holding back.
I'm sorry, Mom, she thought. I'm sorry I can't let go.
She walked into the rain, not knowing where she was going, just knowing she needed to move.
Jane found him by accident.
She'd been walking aimlessly through the park, her sneakers squelching in the mud, when she spotted a figure hunched on a bench beneath the oak trees.
For a second, she almost kept walking. But something about the way he sat—shoulders curved inward, head down, completely still despite the rain—made her stop.
"Caden?"
He looked up, startled. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale. Rain dripped from his hair, his hoodie plastered to his frame.
"Jane?" His voice was hoarse. "What are you—"
"Could ask you the same thing." She approached slowly, her own jacket soaked through. "You good?"
"Yeah. Fine."
"Uh-huh." Jane sat down beside him without asking, the bench cold and wet beneath her. "You always sit in the rain looking like your dog died?"
"We're getting the dog tomorrow," Caden said automatically, then seemed to realize how absurd that sounded. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Sorry. That was—"
"Kinda funny, actually." Jane wiped rain from her face. "So. Rough morning?"
Caden let out a shaky laugh. "You could say that."
"Same."
They sat in silence for a moment, rain drumming around them. Jane studied him from the corner of her eye—the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped his knees, the careful distance he kept even while sitting beside her.
"You wanna talk about it?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Cool. Me neither."
Another silence. This one felt less awkward, more companionable.
"My parents want me to start school," Caden said suddenly. "Twilight Hills Academy. Monday."
"That's my school."
"I know." He glanced at her. "That's... actually kind of why I'm freaking out."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Because of me?"
"No! No, not—" Caden fumbled for words. "I just mean... school. People. The whole thing. I can't—" He stopped, his breathing quickening.
Jane recognized the signs immediately. She'd seen them in the mirror often enough.
"Hey." She shifted closer, her voice gentle. "Breathe with me, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four."
Caden looked at her like she was crazy, but he followed her lead. They breathed together, the rain a steady rhythm around them.
Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. His grip on his knees loosened.
"Thanks," he whispered.
"No problem." Jane leaned back against the bench. "Panic attacks are a bitch."
"You get them too?"
"Used to. After my mom died." The words came out easier than she expected. "Took a while to figure out how to manage them."
Caden was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry. About your mom."
"Thanks." Jane's throat tightened. "It's been three years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday, you know?"
"Yeah." Caden's voice was barely audible. "I know."
Something in his tone made Jane look at him more closely. "What happened to you, Caden?"
He flinched. "I don't—"
"You don't have to tell me," she said quickly. "But I can tell something did. And I'm guessing that's why you're terrified of going back to school."
Caden stared at his hands. Rain dripped from his fingertips.
"I was bullied," he said finally. "At my old school. For being... different. Gay." The word came out like a confession. "And there was this guy, Dexter. I thought he was my friend. Thought he—" His voice cracked. "He wasn't. He made everything worse. And then people started saying things about me, awful things that weren't true, and nobody believed me when I said they were lies, and—"
He stopped, his whole body shaking.
Jane didn't think. She just reached over and pulled him into a hug.
Caden stiffened for a second, then collapsed against her, sobbing into her shoulder. Jane held him tight, her own tears mixing with the rain on her face.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
They stayed like that for a long time, two broken people holding each other together in the rain.
When Caden finally pulled back, his eyes were swollen but clearer. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize." Jane wiped her own face. "We're both a mess. Might as well be a mess together."
That got a real smile out of him. Small, but real.
"My stepmom," Jane said suddenly. "Aurora. She's not a bad person. She really isn't. But every time I look at her, all I see is my dad moving on. Forgetting my mom. And I know that's not fair, but I can't—" Her voice broke. "I can't let go."
"You don't have to let go," Caden said quietly. "You just have to... make room. For both. The grief and the new stuff."
Jane looked at him, surprised. "That's pretty wise for someone who's currently hiding from school in the rain."
"I have a good therapist." Caden's smile was wry. "Had. I'm supposed to find a new one here, but I've been avoiding it."
"Maybe don't avoid it."
"Maybe you should give Aurora a chance."
They looked at each other, both recognizing the hypocrisy, and started laughing. It was slightly hysterical, edged with tears, but it felt good.
"We're disasters," Jane said.
"Complete disasters," Caden agreed.
The rain began to lighten, shifting from a downpour to a steady drizzle. The clouds overhead started to break apart, letting through thin streams of sunlight.
"Caden," Jane said carefully. "About school."
He tensed immediately.
"Hear me out," she continued. "I know you're scared. I know you've been through hell. But Twilight Hills Academy? It's not like other schools. It's small, like three hundred kids total. Most people are pretty chill. And—" She bumped his shoulder gently. "You wouldn't be alone. I'd be there."
"Jane—"
"I'm not saying it'll be easy. I'm not saying you won't have bad days. But hiding forever?" She shook her head. "That's not living. That's just... existing. And you deserve more than that."
Caden's eyes filled with tears again. "What if it happens again? What if people—"
"Then we deal with it. Together." Jane's voice was fierce. "You're not the same person you were at your old school. You're stronger now. You survived, Caden. That takes guts."
"I don't feel strong."
"Nobody does. But you are." She stood, offering him her hand. "Come on. Let's get you home before your parents send out a search party."
Caden stared at her hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, he took it.
They walked through the park together, their shoes squelching in the mud, their clothes dripping. The rain had stopped completely now, leaving everything clean and fresh and new.
"Monday," Caden said suddenly. "I'll try. Monday."
Jane grinned. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He took a shaky breath. "But if I have a panic attack in the middle of the hallway—"
"Then I'll sit with you until it passes. Deal?"
"Deal."
They reached the edge of the park, where their paths would split. Jane squeezed his hand once before letting go.
"Text me if you need anything," she said. "Seriously. Even if it's three in the morning and you're freaking out. I'll answer."
"Thank you," Caden said, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
"That's what friends are for."
Friends. The word settled over Caden like a warm blanket.
He watched Jane jog off toward her house, then turned toward his own. His heart hammered as he approached the front door, but he forced himself to open it.
His parents were in the living room, both looking up anxiously as he entered. Mamá's eyes were red. Papá's jaw was tight.
"Mijo—" Papá started.
"I'm sorry," Caden interrupted. "I'm sorry for yelling. For running out. For—" He swallowed hard. "For everything."
Mamá crossed the room in three strides, pulling him into a fierce hug. "You don't have to apologize, baby. We're sorry. We pushed too hard—"
"No." Caden pulled back, looking between them. "You were right. I can't hide forever. So... Monday. I'll start Monday."
Papá's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"No," Caden admitted. "But I'm going to try anyway."
His parents exchanged a look, then both hugged him at once, sandwiching him between them. Caden let himself sink into their warmth, let himself feel safe for just a moment.
"We're so proud of you," Mamá whispered.
"Te amamos, mijo," Papá added. "So much."
"I love you too," Caden said. "Both of you."
When they finally pulled apart, Mateo and Clara came thundering down the stairs, demanding to know why everyone was crying. Caden found himself laughing, ruffling their hair, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
That night, as he lay in bed, his phone buzzed.
Jane: Proud of you. You got this. 💪
Caden smiled, typing back.
Caden: Thanks for today. For everything.
Jane: Anytime. That's what friends do.
Friends.
Caden set his phone down, staring up at the ceiling. The darkness was still there, would probably always be there. But now there was something else too—a flicker of light. A possibility.
Monday would come. He would walk through those school doors. He would face his fears.
And he wouldn't be alone.