Chapter 3 A painful end, a new beginning

The silence in Anastasia's house was suffocating. It wasn't the usual calm silence of a home winding down for the night, filled with the occasional hum of the television or the distant clatter of Ana's mother moving around the kitchen. No, this was different. It was the kind of silence that sat heavy in the air, thick and unnatural. The kind of silence that swallowed everything whole.

The walls that had once been filled with warmth and laughter felt cold, foreign. He had spent so many days here that it was practically his second home, but now... Now, it felt like a graveyard.

Wyatt stood at the kitchen counter, his hands steady as he chopped vegetables for dinner, but Bastian could see the tremble in them, the barely restrained grief that threatened to break through. The man had lost the love of his life, and yet, he was still standing, still trying to hold everything together for his children.

"I can help," Bastian offered, his voice softer than usual. Wyatt merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Bastian busied himself with dinner preparations, trying to fill the unbearable quiet. Every now and then, he glanced toward the staircase, expecting to hear the familiar sound of Anastasia's footsteps, but nothing. She hadn't come down all day.

"Go check on her," Wyatt murmured after a while, eyes still fixed on the cutting board. "She won't listen to me."

Bastian didn't need to be told twice.

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart heavy, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He had never seen Ana like this. She was always the firecracker, the one who laughed in the face of trouble, who never let anything shake her.

But when he reached her room and pushed the door open, what he saw made his chest ache like someone had driven a knife straight through it.

Anastasia lay curled up on her bed, a trembling ball of grief. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her face buried in her pillow. She looked so small. So fragile. It didn't seem real-this wasn't the girl he knew.

Bastian didn't think. He didn't hesitate.

He crossed the room and climbed into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her without a word. Normally, she would have shoved him away, called him a dork, laughed and told him to quit being so dramatic. But not tonight.

Tonight, she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Her hands fisted in his shirt, and she sobbed against his chest, the sound muffled but broken.

He held her tighter, pressing his chin against the top of her head, feeling the way her body trembled against his. He wanted to say something-anything-to make it better. But there were no words big enough to fix this. So he just held her.

Minutes turned into an hour. Her sobs eventually quieted, though every once in a while, a shudder would go through her. When she finally pulled back, her face was a mess of tear-streaked devastation, her normally bright eyes dull and red-rimmed.

"She's gone, Bass," she whispered, voice hoarse.

"I know, Nasa..." His own voice cracked, thick with emotion. He ran his fingers up and down her back, a small, soothing motion. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Something inside her seemed to shatter at his words. The strongest girl he had ever known-the girl who never backed down, who always stood tall-had finally broken. And damn it, it broke him too.

His own tears slipped free before he could stop them, hot and unchecked, but he didn't care. He didn't wipe them away. He just held onto her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He didn't leave her side that night. Even as exhaustion pulled at him, he stayed awake, watching over her as she drifted into a restless sleep, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear.

And as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he whispered the words he had never dared to say out loud. "I love you, Nasa. And I always will."

The next few months were a slow, painful blur. His parents did what they could, bringing over food, offering quiet condolences. Bastian spent every second he could with Anastasia, doing everything in his power to make sure she never had to face the crushing weight of her grief alone. But she recovered and started being her own self again thanks to Bastian. He managed to make her laugh, start normal routine and she became the girl he first fell in love with when they were 14-years-old.

But then, life had a cruel way of hitting her with another punch.

Wyatt remarried.

It wasn't just the fact that he moved on-it was how fast it happened. A year after Ana's mom passed, Beth Thompson stepped into their lives like she owned the place. She came with a bright, practiced smile and a daughter who looked like she belonged in a Disney movie.

Britney Thompson was everything Anastasia wasn't-sweet, bubbly, blonde, and perfect. And she was determined to make Ana's life a living hell.

Beth played the perfect stepmother in front of Wyatt and the boys. She cooed over them, acted like the world's best parent. But the moment they weren't around? She turned into something else entirely. Cold. Controlling. Cruel. And Britney followed her lead, a wicked stepsister straight out of a nightmare.

Anastasia became their personal servant. Scrubbing floors with a toothbrush, washing their clothes, doing their chores on top of her own. Her once-bright spirit dulled, and Bastian saw the change immediately.

She stopped laughing. Stopped fighting back.

She came to school exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden. Bastian asked her about it, over and over, but she brushed it off with forced smiles and tired excuses.

Until he finally snapped.

"Nasa, what's going on?" he demanded as they walked home from school one day.

"What do you mean?" she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"You're different. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore. Is it your mom?"

"No, no. I've just been busy," she said flatly. "I'm fine, Bass."

"Bullshit." The word slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn't regret it. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. "Talk to me."

Her eyes flickered with something-anger, exhaustion, maybe both. But then she wrenched her arm free. "I don't need this, Bastian!" she snapped, her voice sharper than he'd ever heard it.

He took a step back, stunned. Hurt.

He watched as she stormed ahead, her hair whipping around her face. For the first time in years, she was walking away from him. And for the first time in his life, Bastian was truly afraid.

Something was wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

And if he didn't do something soon, he was going to lose her.

For good.