Novels by Chithority

The house was quiet again, but not in the warm, familiar way it used to be.The silence now had weight—an invisible heaviness that pressed against my chest, that seeped into the walls, the floor, the very air I breathed. It wasn’t peaceful silence. It was the kind that listens. The kind that waits. The kind that knows.Every creak of the house sounded like accusation.Every breath felt like confession.After the birthday chaos, after the laughter and the cake, after Sebastian’s sudden presence had pulled the ground out from under me, I had thought maybe—just maybe—I could breathe again. For one fleeting second, I’d let myself believe that the world could be stitched back together with frosting and candles.But children have a way of asking the questions adults don’t dare to voice.And mine… mine weren’t going to let me hide.The walls still held the echoes of last night—laughter that had come too easily, too desperately; the faint tremor of surprise when Sebastian appeared; the way hi

POV: Evelyn The morning after the birthday felt nothing like a celebration. Streamers still hung limply from the walls, half-deflated balloons cluttered the floor, and the faint scent of frosting lingered in the air. But instead of laughter, the house was wrapped in silence so thick it pressed against my skin. The children moved about quietly, deliberately, as if every sound might shatter what little peace we had left. I tried to keep busy. I gathered plates from the table, stacked cups, wiped down counters that didn’t need wiping. My hands moved with restless precision, but my mind was chaos—replaying every second of Sebastian standing in this house, every glance, every hesitant smile, every unspoken wound. The echo of his voice lingered in the corners of the room. Even now, it clung to the air like a ghost that refused to leave. I hated that I could still hear it. I hated more that a part of me didn’t want to forget. “Mummy?” Rolland’s voice broke the stillness. I turned

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long, heavy and fragile all at once. The air felt thick, as if even the walls were holding their breath, waiting for someone to move first. Evelyn looked away, pretending to busy herself with clearing crumbs from the table, anything to avoid the familiarity in his voice.Anastasia didn’t notice the tension; she was already onto the next box, dragging it toward Sebastian with both hands. “This one’s from Rolland!” she announced proudly.Sebastian’s eyes flickered toward his eldest son. “Is it?” His tone was light, but his voice trembled at the edges.Rolland gave a stiff nod, refusing to meet his father’s gaze. “I—I made it,” he muttered, his fingers twisting the edge of his shirt.Sebastian swallowed hard. “Then I’m honored.” He opened the box carefully, as if afraid to damage whatever lay inside. When he pulled out a small wooden airplane—roughly carved, uneven but full of care—his breath hitched. He turned it over in his hands, tracing the g

Liam didn’t move, but his jaw tightened. “I’m not starting. I’m reminding you. There’s a difference.”Her breath hitched, but she held his gaze. “You think I don’t know what I’m walking into? You think I haven’t been preparing for this moment since the second I said yes to the children?”He sighed, running a hand through his hair, eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall. “Preparing doesn’t make it hurt any less.”“Neither does hiding.” The words came out softer than she intended, almost a whisper. She turned back to the window, the reflection of her face faint in the glass—composed on the outside, chaos underneath. “They need this. I can handle it.”“Can you?” he asked quietly.The question lingered in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.Evelyn’s fingers brushed against the edge of the curtain, tracing the fabric without realizing it. “I have to,” she said finally. “Because if I can’t face him now, then he still owns a part of me. And I won’t give him that.”For a mome

The morning sun spilled through the curtains, scattering gold across the living room. Streamers crisscrossed the walls, balloons bobbed in clusters near the corners, and the faint scent of chocolate cake drifted from the kitchen.It was the first time the house had felt alive in weeks.Kent sat propped up on the couch, still pale but smiling faintly, his eyes glowing brighter than they had since the hospital. A soft blanket was tucked around him, his small frame dwarfed by the cushions. Rolland crouched in front of him, holding up two different sets of ribbons like they were sacred artifacts.“Blue or gold? You pick, Kent. It’s your birthday.”Kent blinked at the ribbons, his lips twitching in the smallest of smiles. His hand—still weak, trembling slightly—lifted and pointed toward the blue.“Blue it is!” Rolland announced triumphantly, puffing out his chest like a hero who had just won a great battle.Anastasia clapped her hands, the sound light and sweet, and skipped to Muna’s side

The faint beeping of machines was the only sound anchoring me to reality. Each rhythmic pulse was a fragile reminder that he was still here — that my world hadn’t completely fallen apart.I sat slumped in the hospital chair, my back aching, my hand wrapped tightly around Kent’s small fingers as though my grip alone could tether him to this world. His skin was cool — too cool — and the faint sheen of sweat glistened on his temple, catching the weak fluorescent light.He looked so pale. Too fragile. The warmth and mischief that once danced behind those bright eyes were gone now, drained from his tiny body as if someone had reached in and stolen it along with his laughter.But he was breathing.That alone was a miracle.Each shallow rise and fall of his chest was a prayer answered, yet it came with a thousand unanswered ones still lodged in my heart. I wanted to hold him tighter, but I was terrified of hurting him, of pressing too hard, of shattering what was left of him. My thumb brushe