thunderstorm

Dear Diary,

After my older sister left, I kicked Brian out. I desperately wanted to be alone. My thoughts were in shambles. To be honest, I wasn't even thinking anymore—I couldn't think. I was in shock.

I sat on my bed with great difficulty, like every bone in my body had given up. How long did I stay there? Thirty minutes? An hour? Two? I couldn't tell you for sure. It was only when a tear started to roll down my cheek that I began to come back to my senses.

Then I broke down again, sobbing uncontrollably, while outside, black clouds began to gather, and the wind grew stronger, more violent—more destructive.

How could my own sister betray me like this? Couldn't she, just for once, show a little compassion? How could she hire a lawyer to take custody of our brothers away from me, knowing damn well I can’t even afford someone to defend us?

Her words echoed inside me with such intensity, they seemed to blend with the thunder roaring outside. I put my head in my hands, refusing to believe what had just happened.

How could she, for even a second, think I’d be capable of letting go of the people I love most in this world? How could she stand before me, with her fake smile and venomous tongue, and ask me to give them up?

Outside, the thunder grew louder and more violent, as if the storm understood the state of my heart. Rain poured heavily like the tears streaming down my face, and the wind howled with such fury, you’d think it aimed to rip every tree from the earth.

From my window, I could hear neighbors yelling for their loved ones to take shelter—but honestly, I didn’t care.

My phone started to ring. I didn’t have the strength to answer it. I slid off the bed and curled up on the floor in a fetal position.

I was overwhelmed—by the betrayal, by the fear of losing my family again, but also by something darker. Something I couldn’t quite name. Something too dangerous to speak aloud. Something stronger than mere sadness. Was it beyond melancholy?

Then I heard someone banging on the door.

At first, it was soft. Then it grew louder and louder, like they were ready to break it down.

A voice.

Brian’s voice.

“Please, Jane! Open the door—I know you're in there!”

I didn’t move.

The knocking continued, now almost desperate. His voice cracked through the storm.

“I’m begging you, Jane. Talk to me. You don't have to go through this alone.”

Tears welled up again, not out of pain, but confusion. My body trembled. I wanted to scream at him to go away, to leave me in peace, to let me fall apart in silence.Tears welled up again, not out of pain, but confusion. My body trembled. I wanted to scream at him to go away, to leave me in peace, to let me fall apart in silence.

But something in me—some sliver of something I thought had died—got up.

I dragged myself to the door, fingers shaking, heart pounding against my chest like it was trying to escape. I unlocked it.

Brian stood there, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to his face, his eyes wild with worry.

The moment our eyes met, he pulled me into his arms.

And just like that, as if the universe felt it too, the storm outside began to calm.

The wind died down. The rain softened to a whisper.

And I—broken, exhausted, hollow—buried my face in his chest. I didn’t say a word.

But my breathing slowed.

And my sobs quieted.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, my soul found the tiniest bit of rest.

Brian tightened his grip, resting his chin on my

head.

“Jane,” he whispered. “Let me help you. Please"