The sun was setting as Abbie walked home, the weight of the test result pressing down on her. She pulled a piece of paper from her bag and sighed—34/100, scrawled in harsh ink across the top. Just looking at it, she could already picture her mother’s scathing words. She shoved the paper back into her bag, brows furrowing as her frustration twisted like a knot in her stomach. Abbie stopped at a convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes. As she stepped out, her parents drove by and caught sight of her. They immediately stopped the car. “Great…” she muttered, watching them get out. Her mother’s expression was stormy as she closed the distance with long strides. Without a word, she grabbed Abbie’s arm and dragged her toward the car, shoving her inside. Abbie’s heart pounded uncontrollably. The grip on her arm sent a jolt of panic through her body, and she instinctively caressed the spot where her mom had gripped her, as though trying to soothe the phantom pain. Her father remained silent as he started the engine. Abbie knew she was in trouble. Big trouble. The drive home was silent, so thick it could be cut with a knife. Abbie wanted to speak, but she knew better than to open her mouth when her mother was like this. Minutes later, they arrived. Her mother slammed the car door so hard it made her father jump. Abbie followed slowly, dragging her feet. She wanted to run away, like she always did, but guilt crept in. She’d troubled her mother again, and for once, she felt like she needed to face it. She opened the door and stepped inside. Her mother was already pacing the living room, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor. Her father sat silently in his chair. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore!” her mother snapped, throwing her hands in the air. Abbie stared at her, confused. Her mother was clearly angry about something specific—but what? She glanced at her father for clues. He sighed, leaning forward. “Your principal called. Apparently, you’ve been sent to the office multiple times. She asked us to come in, but you told her we were too busy.” His eyes met hers, full of quiet disappointment. Her mother’s voice softened but grew distant. “You’re going to your aunt’s. Away from those friends of yours.” Before Abbie could protest, her mother turned and stormed upstairs, slamming the door of the room she shared with Abbie’s father. Abbie looked at her father, silently pleading for help, but he only shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart...” Frustrated, Abbie stormed to her room. She slammed the door and kicked it, only to gasp in pain as it hit her toe. She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered. She turned around, her back pressed against the bed, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t know how to escape this. Her eyes drifted to the open window—it looked so free. She could run, leave everything behind…but something inside her refused. Abbie stood and walked to her closet. She could pack a bag and be gone by morning. But then her gaze landed on her memory box. Instead of opening it, she kicked it. Regret hit her immediately. There were things in there—things she’d spent a fortune on. “Damn you, Luc…” she muttered, her throat tightened. She didn’t even know if she meant it. She dropped into the chair at her desk, picked up a pencil, and began tapping it absently against her notebook, leaving tiny dots in the paper. As she continued tapping the pencil, Lev’s face flashed in her mind—those young features, unchanged in her memory from five years ago. Abbie shook her head, frustrated with herself for even thinking of him. She threw the pencil across the room, not caring where it landed, and leaned back in her chair.What does he even look like now? The thought hit her before she could stop it. She slapped her forehead. “Fuck,” she muttered. As if her mom being mad and sending her away wasn’t already enough, Luc's face wouldn’t stop invading her head. She had to forget him. Just like he’d forgotten her. “Promise, my ass,” she muttered. She reached for her diary on the study table, then crouched to find the pencil she had thrown. It had rolled under the table—right into the farthest corner—along with a piece of torn paper. She picked it up. Just a scrap. But there were numbers scribbled on it. Abbie squinted. 04-21. That was it. No name, no context. With a shrug, she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash can. Then she turned back to her desk, flipping open her diary. She began to write—pushing the frustration out of her chest and onto the page. It was a habit she’d picked up when she hit her lowest point, and somehow, it still worked. As Abbie poured her frustration into her diary, she lost track of time, her family hadn't call her for dinner yet. She stood up abruptly, deciding to pack her clothes, though she wasn't sure when she'd be leaving. She hoped it wouldn’t happen too soon. Packing always had a calming effect on her, so she carefully folded her clothes, making sure every crease was perfect. The slightest miss would set her off, and she needed things to be just right. When she finished, her eyes scanned the neatly arranged clothes, but something felt off. She snapped her fingers in realization and walked toward her parents' bedroom to retrieve the coat her mother had borrowed. She peeked in to check if her mother was still there. Finding the room empty, she stepped inside. Inside the room, she went straight to the closet and rummaged through it. After a few moments, she found the coat on the top shelf. Reaching up on tiptoe, she tugged it down, but as she did, an envelope slipped out and fell to the floor. Abbie sighed, bending down to pick it up. The envelope was thick, bulging with papers, and as she started to straighten it, a few papers spilled out. Cursing under her breath, she knelt again to gather them. Among the scattered papers—birth certificates, bills—something else caught her eye. There were several sheets of paper, some folded differently than the others. One of the papers stood out: it was torn, not entirely, but enough that she could make out letters. Her fingers hovered over it, and she leaned in closer. The letters were faint, but she could clearly make out two of them. “Lu…” Her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath, on the verge of opening it, when she heard her father’s voice from downstairs. “Abbie! Dinner’s ready!” Startled, Abbie quickly shoved the papers back into the envelope, carefully aligning them as she found them. She slipped the envelope back onto the shelf, heart racing. For a moment, the paper—the torn remnants of a name—lingered in her mind, but she shook the thought away, trying to focus. She hurried downstairs to join her family, the mystery of the paper now nagging at the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside.