Chapter 22
Khalee
I had to leave him.
For the first time, he slept, and despite the overwhelming urge to stay by his side, I needed space.
I needed to gather my thoughts, to breathe without the weight of him pressing down on me.
In his presence, clarity was impossible.
My mind is a storm, and he is at the center of it.
I thought I could help him.
I truly believed that having him back in my life, even in this fractured way, would bring me peace, just as much as it would bring him. But the opposite is happening.
I’ll have to tell him everything eventually, but I don’t even know how to begin.
He doesn’t have answers for me, and I still don’t have answers for him, and every day that passes, I find myself sinking deeper into him, just as he sinks deeper into me.
Distance isn’t working because, between us, there is no possible distance.
We’re inevitable.
So, everything I buried, every feeling I locked away, has been brought to life.
They linger, raw and unresolved, haunting me at every turn, just like he is.
I have to free myself from this.
And I have to free him too.
I have to help him move on. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I have to move on, too.
The place I was in before, the darkness I barely survived, is not somewhere I can return to.
I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.
My fingers reach into my pocket for my phone, intending to call my mother, but I find nothing.
Of course.
I left it at home.
Fantastic. That means I’ll have to use the doorbell.
I stand before the two-story house where I grew up.
A deep sigh escapes my lips as I stare at the familiar door, knowing that beyond it is the woman who loves me most in the world.
I had wanted to avoid this, but… I don’t have anywhere else to go, so, mustering the strength I don’t have, I knock.
A moment later, the door swings open, revealing my mother in her robe, her soft eyes landing on me like a soothing balm over an open wound. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. The moment my gaze meets hers, the tears spill over, streaming down my face with an intensity I can’t control.
Without hesitation, she steps forward, wrapping me in her arms, her warmth, her scent, everything about her a lifeline I didn’t realize I needed this badly.
I grip her tighter than I should, as if letting go might mean crumbling completely.
“Please,” I manage between sobs. “Just us,” I ask because I don’t have the strength to see the painful gaze of my father seeing me like this once again.
She nods, understanding without question as always, and leads me to the greenhouse, a space that has always been hers, filled with soft light and the scent of fresh soil and life.
It’s where she spends her days when she’s not at church. It’s where she comes to think, to heal. And now, it’s where she brings me, gently guiding me to a chair before settling across from me.
She waits. Not pushing, not pressing, just being there.
And that is enough to break me all over again.
After a while, when I’m able to breathe again, she smiles.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing it’s hurting her watching me crush, but not being able to tell why. “You must think I’m mental to be at your door this early and in this state, but…”
“Don’t be sorry, baby girl. You know that your father and I are always here for you.
We don’t keep the distance because we want to, but because you want us to.
And we always respected your space. Maybe that doesn’t make us the best parents, and sometimes we both think we should do more, but…
You were always so independent and reserved that we never wanted to push too hard.
We were afraid that if we did, you might cut us off completely. ”
I swallow hard, staring at my hands because I know that.
They had always known when something was wrong. And yet, they had given me space, hoping I would come to them on my own terms.
Tears burn in my eyes again. “I didn’t mean to shut you out,” I whisper. “I just… I couldn’t tell you. I still don’t know if I can.”
She reaches across, taking my hands in hers. “Whatever it is, Khalee, you don’t have to carry it alone, baby. If it hurts you, it matters. And if it matters to you, it matters to us.”
I inhale shakily, my heart pounding.
The secret I’ve kept buried for so long threatens to spill out, and for the first time in years, I wonder if telling even just part of it might finally set me free.
“I don’t think you would believe me, Mom.”
“Try me,” she says softly, her eyes full of warmth and patience.
I hesitate, my fingers twisting together. “Do you remember six years ago when I started… talking to someone?”
She tilts her head slightly, her brows knitting together as she searches her memory. “You were so withdrawn back then. I recall noticing that something had shifted, but you never mentioned it. Was that when it started?”
I nod slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Yeah. It was.”
She exhales, leaning forward slightly. “Who was it, baby?”
My fingers tighten around each other. “His name was Kaze.”
She frowns slightly, the name unfamiliar. “Kaze… I don’t remember you mentioning anyone by that name.”
“Because I never did,” I whisper. “It all started by chance. A random message that should have meant nothing, but somehow, it became everything. I was so tired, Mom. Tired of school, tired of keeping everything together, tired of always being the one who had to handle everything. Mada was too much all the time, always needing something, and I felt like I was disappearing. Then Kaze appeared. First, we just talked, small things, meaningless things. But before I even realized it, he had become my escape.”
My mother watches me carefully, her gaze unwavering.
“And after a year,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper, “he was my best friend. No, more than that. He was the only person who saw me, the only one who never expected anything from me. He just let me be. I could breathe while just talking to him, and before I knew it, I was falling in love.”
The words ache as they leave me, the weight of them pressing into my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to chase away the tears burning at the edges of my eyes, but my throat is thick with emotion, tightening with every syllable.
“I told him things I had never told anyone. He knew every part of me, every crack, every wound. And he made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t broken beyond repair.”
My mother shakes her head, her voice warm, insistent. “You were never broken, baby girl. Never. You were always so sweet and perfect. Why would you think such a thing?”
I laugh, but it’s hollow, bitter. She doesn’t understand.
“Because I know I’m different.”
The words come fast now, like something I’ve held inside for too long, something that’s been waiting for this exact moment to spill over.
“And those differences have always been there. You and Dad love being around people, working in the church, and are always full of life and conviction. And me?” I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “I’m a witch.”
She doesn’t react, but I know the word lands.
“You’re both funny, open, always saying exactly what’s on your mind. I’m too calm, too reserved. You speak your truth without hesitation, I cage mine inside.”
I swallow hard. My hands tighten into fists in my lap.
“And Mada… she’s like both of you, but on steroids.”
I shake my head, feeling that old, familiar weight settle in my chest.
“So, where did that leave me? The weird one. The one who didn’t fit, not in this family, not in this town.”
The words slice as I say them, because I know they’re the truth. I’ve always known.
“I never wanted to go to parties. I never wanted to make friends just because it was expected of me. I never wanted to be the center of attention. I just… I like to experience moments for what they are. I like to let them be special without forcing them to be more.”
I shake my head again, my voice gaining momentum, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
“My only friend was a sixty-year-old woman, for fuck’s sake.”
My mother flinches, but I don’t stop.
“At school, it was even more obvious,” I continue, my voice quieter now, like I’m admitting something I shouldn’t.
“I didn’t want to be alone, but I didn’t relate to people either.
I didn’t care about their gossip or their stupid drama.
I didn’t care about the same things they did.
The subjects didn’t interest me, and the conversations felt pointless. ”
I pause, expecting her to argue, to insist I should’ve tried harder, been different, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she just watches me with something soft and knowing in her eyes.
“That doesn’t make you weird, Khalee. That makes you an old soul.”
Her words catch me off guard.
“You’ve always been so grown, so responsible. You’ve always been… you. And we loved you immediately for that.”
Her voice breaks a little, and I realize she’s crying.
“I know we adopted you, baby. But loving you was never a choice. It was innate. The first time I saw you, I didn’t see just any girl; I saw my daughter. And my daughter was never weird. Not to us.”
Her words crack something open inside me.
A wound I didn’t realize had been waiting to bleed.
She reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently, and it’s too much.
Too much love, too much grief for the years I spent feeling like an outsider in my own family.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, “I’m really sorry you felt that way for so long.”
I swallow hard, blinking past the burning in my eyes.
“I’m sorry too, Mom.”
She nods, brushing a tear from her cheek before clearing her throat, her voice softer now, more hesitant.
“But… what about that boy?”
She already knows.
Or at least, she knows enough.
But she needs me to say it.
I look away, my gaze falling to the worn wooden floor beneath us. The words feel heavier now, harder to force out.
“And then we met,” I whisper, “and it was everything I expected and more.”
I pause, inhaling sharply before finishing,