Chapter 22 Chapter 22
Sunday mornings in the Winfield house always carried a strange heaviness, like the air itself knew it needed to tiptoe. Cass felt it the moment she opened her eyes. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that came before an argument. The kind that made her heart tense before her feet even touched the floor.
She brushed her teeth slowly, her body moving through the routine on autopilot. Her eyes were tired. Her shoulders were tight. Her reflection looked like someone holding too much inside.
When she stepped into the hallway, she found her mother already pacing in the living room, phone pressed to her ear, voice shaking in that way Cass recognized immediately.
Her dad.
Cass froze halfway down the stairs.
Her mom’s voice was sharp. “You can’t call only when you feel guilty. That’s not how this works.”
A pause.
Then the whispering anger: “She doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s why.”
Cass closed her eyes. She wished she hadn’t heard that. She wished her heart didn’t twist. She wished her dad didn’t get to decide whether he cared.
Her mom turned the corner and saw her.
And Cass knew instantly it was about to spill.
“Good,” her mom snapped into the phone. “Then don’t expect her to pretend everything is fine.” She hung up, exhaling like she had been punched.
Cass took a cautious step down. “Mom…”
Her mother turned sharply. “Why didn’t you answer his calls yesterday?”
Cass blinked. “Because I didn’t want to.”
“You didn’t want to?” her mother repeated, voice cracking. “Cass, he’s still your father.”
“He left us,” Cass replied quietly.
“And you think I don’t remember?” her mom shot back. “Do you think I’m not reminded every single day that he chose someone else?”
Cass swallowed. The air thinned. “I’m not saying you’re not hurt. I just..”
“No.” Her mother pointed at her like she was scolding a child. “You are making this harder. For both of us. You’re shutting him out. You’re shutting me out. You’re just… drifting.”
“I’m trying, Mom.”
“Try harder!” her mother burst out. “Try harder, Cass, because everything is falling apart and you’re acting like you’re the only one with problems!”
Cass felt the words hit her like physical blows.
She stood frozen, cheeks warming, eyes burning.
“I’m doing my best,” she whispered.
Her mother’s breath faltered. For a moment she looked like she regretted it. Like she wanted to take it all back. But the emotion twisted, tangled, and turned into something else exhaustion, bitterness, grief.
She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t do this today. I just… I need space.”
Cass nodded without saying anything else.
Then she quietly walked back upstairs and closed her bedroom door.
She sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as a few tears slipped down without permission. She wiped them away quickly, as if someone could see her.
She didn’t cry often. She didn’t like how fragile it made her feel. She didn’t like how much Marvin’s games and her mother’s stress combined like a weight she couldn’t lift.
She reached for her phone.
Jace’s name was at the top of her messages. From last night.
Last night he had felt warm. Supportive. Steady.
But today?
Today she felt like a burden.
She turned off her phone, placed it face down, and closed her eyes.
Not today.
She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.
In the Woods house, Sunday morning was strangely calm. Marvin was already gone
training or stirring trouble somewhere leaving the house blessedly quiet.
Jace stretched on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then reached for his phone almost instinctively.
No message from Cass.
She usually responded fast.
Instantly, even.
But now… nothing.
He frowned and sent a simple message.
Morning.
He stared, waiting.
A minute passed. Then two. Then five.
Nothing.
The unease settled in his chest like a stone.
He tried again.
You okay?
Still nothing.
It wasn’t like her. Even when she was tired, she replied. Even when she didn’t want to talk, she sent at least one emoji or a dry remark.
Today, nothing.
He put the phone down but kept glancing at it, restless. He paced the room. He tried to distract himself by lifting dumbbells, but the silence from her made something itch under his skin.
He checked her social media.
No posts. No stories. Nothing.
He texted once more.
If you need something… anything… I’m here.
Still no answer.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to be the guy who pushed. He didn’t want to suffocate her. But something was wrong he could feel it. He knew the patterns of people who carried too much. He recognized the silence of someone overwhelmed.
He had lived that silence.
And he hated seeing her fall into it.
Cass’s room felt too warm, too small, too quiet.
The tears had dried, leaving a dull ache behind her eyes.
She dragged herself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, then stared at her reflection. She barely recognized herself. Not because she looked different she looked the same but because she felt different.
She felt tired.
Hollow.
Like someone who had been kicked one too many times.
She heard her mom in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets more loudly than necessary. Cass didn’t want another argument. She didn’t want to breathe wrong and set something off.
She grabbed her jacket and slipped out the back door. She needed air. She needed distance. She walked down the street aimlessly, shoving her phone deeper into her pocket.
Kids rode their bikes. A dog barked somewhere. A neighbor hosed down their driveway. Everything felt normal, and that made her feel even more out of place.
Why couldn’t she be normal?
Why did everything have to be heavy?
She ended up at the small park three blocks away. The swings squeaked in the breeze. She sat on one and pushed her feet into the ground lightly, rocking herself back and forth.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn’t check it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
She swallowed, guilt tugging at her chest. She knew it was Jace. She knew he’d worry.
But what could she say?
That her mom snapped at her?
That her dad barely tried?
That the school felt like a battlefield?
That she didn’t feel strong today?
No.
She didn’t want him to see her cracked open.
By late afternoon, the silence started gnawing at Jace. He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand, thumb tapping the screen restlessly.
He didn’t want to nag.
He didn’t want to make things worse.
But he also couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice her slipping away.
He walked downstairs. Miss Carway was cooking soup in the kitchen. She looked up at him curiously.
“You’re pacing holes into the floor, dear,” she said gently.
“I’m fine.”
“You look anything but fine.”
He didn’t answer.
She set her spoon down. “Is this about that girl? The quiet one?”
He stiffened. “Cass isn’t…she’s not…”
Miss Carway smiled kindly. “You’ve been calmer since you started talking to her. Softer. It’s noticeable.”
Jace dropped his gaze, ears warming. “She’s having a bad day. I think.”
“Then be patient,” Miss Carway said. “People talk when they’re ready.”
He nodded but didn’t feel comforted.
Patience wasn’t the issue.
Fear was.
Fear that Cass was withdrawing.
Fear that Marvin or her home life or those awful posters had finally gotten to her.
Fear that she was hurting alone, the way he used to.
His phone buzzed again another message from his group chat.
He ignored it.
Then another.
And another.
He finally looked.
The messages were blowing up.
A rumor thread.
Pictures.
Speculation.
Cruel comments.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Someone had started spreading new rumors about Cass.
And suddenly everything made sense.
Her silence wasn’t random.
It wasn’t accidental.
She was breaking quietly.
And Jace stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.
He wasn’t letting her go through it alone.
Not this time.