Shattered reflection

**Introduction: Cracks in the Glass**

Mia is a girl who is 16 years old had a very unpleasant life about her life.

7:30 pm

Mia stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her father, Henry, as he sat at the head of the dinner table. He was cutting into his steak with slow, deliberate movements, the sound of the knife scraping against the plate grating on her nerves. Across from him sat her mother, Sarah, silent as always. Her eyes were downcast, her fork untouched beside her plate. Sarah had perfected the art of disappearing while still being physically present, her body a hollow shell of what she used to be.

Ethan, her younger brother, sat next to their mother, his eyes darting nervously between their father and the clock on the wall. Mia noticed how he barely touched his food, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. The tension in the room was palpable, like a thick fog that wrapped itself around each of them, making it hard to breathe.

Henry cleared his throat, the noise causing both Sarah and Ethan to flinch slightly. "Mia," he said, not looking up from his plate, "sit down."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly obeyed, slipping into the chair across from Ethan. She made sure to keep her movements small, controlled—any sudden motion, any noise, might set him off. It was a delicate balance they all learned to maintain, this fragile illusion of normalcy.

Henry chewed his food slowly, methodically. The sound of his chewing seemed louder in the silence, filling the room in the absence of conversation. Mia kept her eyes fixed on her own plate, her appetite long gone. She could feel the cold, invisible chain of fear tightening around her chest, as it always did during these dinners. Her father's mood could shift in an instant, and they never knew when or why.

She stole a glance at Ethan, who was twirling his fork nervously in his hands. His wrist turned slightly, and Mia's eyes narrowed as she noticed something that made her stomach churn—a faint, dark bruise peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

Her mind began to race. Ethan had always been careful to hide any marks. He knew, just as she did, that it was better to say nothing, to avoid drawing attention. But this time, it seemed different. His silence felt more weighted, more deliberate. Mia's heart pounded harder as she silently questioned what was happening when she wasn't around.

"Eat your dinner, Ethan," Henry's voice snapped, cold and firm.

Ethan jumped slightly, his fork clattering against his plate. "Sorry, Dad," he muttered, hurriedly taking a bite of food. Mia saw his hand trembling.

Sarah shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes still on her plate, but she said nothing. She never did. Mia's resentment toward her mother flared briefly, but it was quickly buried under the familiar weight of helplessness. How many nights had they sat like this, in this suffocating silence? How many times had her mother refused to speak up, to protect them?

Mia gripped her fork tightly, her knuckles whitening. She couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was building up beneath the surface. The bruises on Ethan, her mother's increasing withdrawal, the eerie stillness that hung over the house—everything felt like it was leading to some inevitable breaking point. But when?

As if reading her thoughts, Henry suddenly looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto her. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice low but menacing.

Mia quickly shook her head. "No, everything's fine," she replied, forcing a small, strained smile. Her voice sounded too tight, too false, and she knew Henry could hear it.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Mia felt the familiar chill of dread creep down her spine, but she held his gaze, trying not to blink or show fear. Finally, Henry gave a small grunt and went back to cutting his steak. Mia let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

The rest of the dinner passed in the same agonizing silence. When Henry was finished, he stood up without a word and left the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. As soon as he was gone, the tension in the room seemed to ease, but only slightly. Mia didn't relax; she knew better than to think it was over.

Ethan quickly excused himself and slipped away to his room. Mia watched him go, her mind still on the bruise she'd seen. She wanted to ask him about it, but she knew he wouldn't talk—not yet. He was too scared, and she couldn't blame him.

She started to gather the dishes, but stopped when she saw her mother still sitting there, staring blankly at the now-empty plate in front of her. Mia's frustration boiled over, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. "Why don't you ever say anything?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a knife.

Sarah didn't respond. She didn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard her at all. Mia's chest tightened with a familiar bitterness. Her mother had perfected the art of silence, of invisibility. It was the same silence that had allowed Henry to control their lives for so long, the same silence that made Mia feel utterly alone, even in her own family.

Mia slammed the dishes into the sink harder than she intended, the loud clatter causing Sarah to blink, finally coming out of her daze. She looked up at Mia, but her eyes were distant, hollow, as if she were seeing someone else entirely. "It's not that simple," Sarah murmured, her voice barely audible.

Mia's frustration turned into cold anger. "It could be," she muttered under her breath, though she knew Sarah wouldn't argue. She never did.

Mia left the kitchen and headed upstairs to her room. As she passed by Ethan's door, she paused for a moment, considering knocking, but thought better of it. Instead, she stood in the hallway, staring out the small window at the front yard. The shadows stretched long and dark outside, the streetlights casting eerie shapes on the lawn.

That's when she saw him—a figure standing just beyond the edge of the streetlight, barely visible in the darkness. A man, tall and still, watching the house.

Mia froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She blinked, but the figure didn't move. Who was he? And why was he standing there, watching? Mia stepped closer to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She felt a chill run down her spine as the man's shadow shifted slightly, but still, he made no move to leave.

For a brief moment, she considered telling her father. But then she thought better of it. Nothing good ever came from Henry getting involved. Instead, she stepped back, pulling the curtains closed.