The full moon was still a few nights away. I was down on the beach, tightening the knots on my makeshift raft, pulling the ropes one last time to make sure it wouldn't fall apart halfway through whatever reckless thing I was about to do.
Sweat clung to my skin. My shirt stuck to my back. The salt-heavy air made it hard to breathe. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, and the soft hiss of the waves felt like background static, grating on my already fried nerves.
By midday, my arms were shaking from exhaustion. I tossed the rope aside and flopped down on the sand, my chest heaving. The whole thing looked like it might actually float, but I wasn't betting my life on it just yet.
I sat there a moment, staring at the half-finished raft like it might suddenly finish itself. No such luck.
I dragged myself to my feet and made my way back toward the house. A bath. Food. Maybe I could lie down for five minutes without my muscles cramping.
But as soon as I stepped inside, I saw it. My phone lighting up on the old study table.
I blinked, momentarily stunned. I hadn't had a signal in four days. The bars had taunted me all this time, flickering in and out like some kind of cosmic joke.
I rushed to the table, heart skipping as I leaned over to check the caller ID.
Mom.
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. Of course. It had to be her.
I knew this call wasn't going to be pleasant. She wasn't the "how are you holding up?" kind of mother. She called when she wanted to complain. Always had.
I answered anyway.
"Thank God, Kash. I've been trying to reach you forever. I was starting to get worried."
Her voice filled the empty room like smoke. Heavy. Suffocating.
"I'm fine, Mom," I replied, rubbing my forehead. My tone already sounded defeated. I knew what was coming next.
"I think you've explored enough," she snapped. "Now come back home."
The way she said it, like she owned me. Like I was a child who had wandered too far from the playground.
I swallowed hard. "I told you I'll come back when I feel like it."
I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked anyway. I knew why she really wanted me back. It had nothing to do with my safety. It was never about me. It was always about appearances. About control.
She'd been pushing me to apply for my master's degree ever since I graduated, just so she could brag about it to her friends over tea and card games.
"My son, the scholar," I could practically hear her saying it now.
Living with her my whole life had trained me to endure more than I should have.
The emotional manipulation.
The constant interference.
The way she treated me like I was still fourteen, not twenty.
I wanted to move out years ago. I would have… if I wasn't drowning in student debt.
She knew that. She used that.
And when guilt didn't work, she played the only card she had left, my diagnosis.
"You're not stable enough to be on your own, Kash."
The words echoed in my head like they always did.
I clenched my jaw, trying not to snap.
"Really, Kash? First your father, now you?"
I froze. There it was. The dagger. Right on time.
"Mom, please… don't even go there," I warned, my voice low.
"You know what they say about your father, right?" she cut me off, sharper than glass.
"I know what they said!" I snapped before I could stop myself. "You don't have to remind me every damn time. He was a scientist, Mom. He was doing his job."
My voice cracked, raw, bitter. I hadn't realized how much I needed to say it out loud. How much it had been rotting inside me.
"A job that got him to take his own life," she shot back, her voice cold enough to cut bone.
I ground my teeth so hard I swear I heard them creak. "He was murdered, Mom."
"Don't start with that again, Kash. We've been through this thousands of times." She let out a heavy breath, like she was the one exhausted from this conversation. "You didn't even cry at his funeral… Kash, do you know how weird that looked?"
That hit somewhere deep, like she knew exactly where to aim.
"I think you cried enough for both of us," I bit back. "You mourned him for a whole week before booking a vacation to Barbados."
"I needed an escape!" she barked. "You were, and always have been, emotionally unavailable, Kash! Where the hell was I supposed to go? I'm human too, you know!"
I laughed under my breath, bitter and hollow.
"Then this is my escape, Mom."
Silence crackled between us.
"You should've told me before you left," she hissed. "You just packed your bag and disappeared without telling anyone."
"I left you a note," I said quietly. "You were too busy vacationing. I didn't want to disturb you."
"You're so cruel, Kash. So selfish."
I let the words hang in the air, swallowing every bit of anger that burned in my throat.
And then I gave it to her, the part of me she hated the most.
"Learned from my mother, I suppose."
"Don't use that tone on me!" she snapped, like my words hit a sore spot.
She never understood Dad. And she would never understand me.
To her, he was a stranger, even when he lived under the same roof. She was supposed to stand by him, believe in him, support him when no one else would. But she did none of that.
"You have no idea what I went through," she sobbed into the phone. "Where was your father when I had to raise you on my own? He was off chasing ghosts while I changed your diapers, fed you at 3 a.m., quit my job just to keep you alive. Do you know how terrifying that was? I had no idea what I was doing, I had to figure it all out alone."
Her voice cracked with the weight of her resentment, but to me it didn't sound like pain. It sounded like blame. Like I had ruined her life simply by existing.
Yes, mothers take care of their children. That's what they do. But for her, it was always a burden. A sentence she hadn't signed up for. She never made me feel loved. Only… obligated to be grateful.
And maybe she didn't say it outright, but I felt it in every tone, every sigh, every cold silence.
"I need to be here," I said quietly, willing her to understand, for once in her life. "Whether you like it or not."
"You're turning out just like him," she spat. "Inconsiderate. Selfish."
That was the last straw.
"Bye, Mom."
I hung up. The silence that followed was immediate, like the air had been vacuumed out of the room.
I stood there, phone still in my hand, eyes shut tight as I tried to breathe through the frustration. My jaw ached from clenching it too hard. I'd promised myself I wouldn't let her get to me this time, but there's only so much you can take.
She had a way of sinking her claws in, even when you thought you'd built up armor.
I was ready to crash for the night, emotionally drained and numb from the heat of the argument. But as I moved to close the curtains, something caught my eye.
A wet spot. Right outside the glass door on the porch.
It wasn't rain, the sky had been clear all evening. The moonlight glistened against the water trail like silver ink smudged on the wooden floorboards. It stretched just far enough to suggest… something had been there. Something large. Heavy.
My pulse picked up.
I slid the glass door open cautiously, stepping halfway onto the porch. The ocean was calm. Still. Not a ripple out of place. No sounds. Not even birds.
I scanned the shoreline. Nothing moved. No footprints. No shadows. Just that faint dampness left behind.
It could've been anything. A stray animal. A large bird. A trick of the tide. This side of the ocean didn't have seals, so it couldn't be that either.
I didn't want to read too much into it. Not tonight. I was tired. Mentally. Physically. Everything inside me felt frayed.
With one last glance toward the sea, I stepped back in and locked the door behind me. Every bolt. Every latch.
And then I called it a night.