Chapter 156

Chapter 156
Zia

“Yesterday afternoon,” she replied. “He seemed… fine. Normal Alex. Annoying. Cocky. You know.”
I let out a small breath. That sounded right.

“And today?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something feels off. He always answers me. Even if it’s just a stupid meme or him telling me to leave him alone.”

That knot in my chest tightened. Lila and Alexander fought like siblings sometimes, but their bond ran deep. If she felt something was wrong, I trusted that instinct.
“You tried his friends? ” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Nobody’s seen him since classes ended yesterday.”

Silence stretched between us for a second. I stared out the kitchen window, watching sunlight hit the garden patio, my mind already running through worst-case scenarios I hated even thinking about.

“He didn’t seem upset or angry yesterday?” I pressed.
“No,” she said softly. “He just… distracted. I thought it was Aria stuff. But now…” She trailed off.
Aria.

I’d heard the name a few times in passing. The girl Alexander liked. The girl he tried to pretend he didn’t like that much, which was exactly how I knew he liked her a lot.
“I’ll check on him,” I said gently. “Okay?”

“Please,” Lila whispered. “Something’s wrong, Aunt Zia. I can feel it.”
“I know, baby,” I said softly. “I’ll handle it.”
She exhaled shakily. “Okay… thank you.”

We hung up, and I stayed standing there for a moment, staring at my phone like it might give me answers. My maternal instinct screamed loud enough to drown out logic. Something had happened.

I texted Alexander quickly.
ZIA: You okay?

No reply. I called, and it went straight to voicemail. I tried again. And same, it went straight to voicemail. My pulse started picking up, nerves crawling under my skin like static. I was about to grab my keys when the front door opened.
The sound echoed through the house, heavy and slow. I turned toward the hallway instinctively. Alexander stepped inside.
And my heart broke before he even looked up.

He walked like someone carrying invisible weight on his shoulders. His usual confident stride was gone. His backpack hung loosely from one arm, like he forgot he was holding it. His hair was messy, eyes dull, and jaw clenched tight enough I could see the tension from across the foyer.
That wasn’t my loud, sarcastic, life-of-the-room son. That was a boy trying very hard not to fall apart.
“Alex…” I said quietly.

He froze mid-step. Slowly, he looked up at me. And the second our eyes met… I saw it. That crack. That raw, shattered look I hadn’t seen since he was little and scraped his knees or got his heart crushed by something he didn’t understand yet.
He swallowed hard like he was fighting it. Fighting himself.
“Mom…” he said.
His voice broke, and that was it.

He dropped his bag onto the floor like it suddenly weighed a hundred pounds, took two shaky steps toward me, and then he just… collapsed into me.
Full body. Full weight. Arms wrapping around me like he was holding on for dear life, and he cried; it wasn’t quiet tears or even controlled breathing.
He sobbed. Deep and broken. The kind that ripped straight out of his chest like it had been trapped there for hours… maybe longer.

I wrapped my arms around him instantly, pulling him tight against me, one hand pressing into the back of his head like I used to when he was a kid. I rocked him gently without even thinking, my own chest aching as his shoulders shook.
“It’s okay,” I whispered softly. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

He gripped my shirt like he was afraid I might disappear.
“I’m so stupid,” he choked out.
“No,” I said firmly, smoothing his hair back. “You’re hurt. That’s different.”

He buried his face deeper into my shoulder, his breathing uneven, broken.
We stood there in the foyer for a long time. I didn’t rush him. Didn’t push. Just held him while he let himself fall apart in a way he probably hadn’t allowed since he decided he was grown.

Eventually, his crying softened into shaky breaths. He pulled back slightly, dragging his hands over his face, clearly embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he muttered.

I cupped his cheek gently, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You never apologize for feeling something. Not with me.”
His jaw clenched again, eyes glossing over.
“Come,” I said quietly, guiding him toward the living room.

We sat down on the couch, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him. I waited and waited. Because sometimes, silence let wounds breathe before they spoke.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. “It was Aria,” he said.

There it was. My chest tightened, but I stayed calm. “What happened?”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Turns out… I was entertainment.”
I said nothing. Just listened.

“I overheard two guys talking yesterday,” he continued, voice low and rough. “They were laughing about how she was playing me. Saying she had a boyfriend. Saying they were planning to scam money out of me. Like… some team project or something,” he said. 
Each word hit like a hammer, and I could feel my own anger rising. Not explosive anger. Cold. Protective. Dangerous anger.

He swallowed, staring at his hands. “Everything she did… the hesitation… the maybe answers… it was all planned,” he said with a whisper.
“Oh, Alex…” I whispered softly.
“I thought she liked me,” he admitted, voice cracking again. “I thought she saw me… not the name. Not the money. Just me.”
My heart physically hurt hearing that.

“That’s not stupid,” I said quietly. “That’s human.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even confront her. I just… left. I couldn’t… I didn’t trust myself to speak.”
Tears slipped down his face again, quieter this time, but just as painful.

“I feel humiliated,” he admitted. “Like I should’ve known. Like everyone else probably saw it, and I was just standing there like an idiot.”
I moved closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against my side.
“Listen to me,” I said softly but firmly. “Being tricked by someone cruel doesn’t make you weak. It means you were brave enough to care.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
“Your father and I…” I hesitated, smiling faintly. “We’ve both had our hearts wrecked at some point. It’s almost a rite of passage.”
He snorted weakly. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” I admitted honestly. “But it means you’re not alone in it.”
He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, eyes still wet.
“It just… hurts,” he whispered.
“I know,” I murmured.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes, the house still wrapped in afternoon calm. I ran my fingers through his hair slowly, something I hadn’t done in years. He didn’t stop me. After a while, he spoke again.

“I didn’t lose money. I didn’t even get that far,” he said. “But it still feels like I lost something.”