Chapter 5 The Silence After Thunder

Jayda woke before the sun.

The apartment was quiet, save for the sound of Mya breathing softly in the next room. For a moment, Jayda forgot where she was, what had happened. Then her eyes landed on the open shoebox on the table. Jesse Ray's photo. The letter. Her mother's bruises still painted in memory. Reality settled over her like wet concrete.

She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sasha on the floor again. Blood on the linoleum. A scream caught in her throat. The nurse's eyes when she said "detox"-that word still rang like an alarm bell.

Jayda got up, pulled on a hoodie, and tied her curls into a tight bun. The house still smelled faintly of bleach and vodka.

She went to the kitchen, made some toast she didn't eat, and stared at her inbox.

Still nothing.

She checked her spam. Refreshed. Nothing.

"Why even bother..." she muttered, slamming the laptop shut.

But she knew why. Because that story wasn't just about Lana. It was about her. And in sending it out, she had risked being seen for the first time in her life. That kind of silence wasn't empty. It was heavy. Loud.

Jayda grabbed the laundry basket and started folding clothes just to keep her hands busy. Mya came out rubbing her eyes.

"Morning," Jayda said, soft.

"Is Mama better today?"

Jayda forced a smile. "We'll see her later. She's sleeping a lot. Healing."

"Can I draw her a picture?"

"You better. She'll want it framed."

Mya smiled, teeth missing, and skipped back into the room.

---

That afternoon, Jayda took Mya to the hospital.

Sasha looked worse.

Pale. Hooked to an IV. A bruise around one eye that looked like a cloud. She was asleep when they walked in, but her chest rose and fell. That was enough. Jayda sat at her bedside, held her limp hand.

Mya stood by the window with her drawing - a shaky heart in red crayon. Underneath, she'd written: "For Mama. Please don't leave."

Jayda didn't cry. Not here.

The nurse said they might move Sasha to a recovery unit by the weekend.

"Will she be the same?" Jayda asked.

The nurse sighed. "Addiction's like a war. People survive it, but they don't walk out untouched. She'll need time. So will you."

---

That night, back home, Jayda lit a candle in the living room. She pulled out her notebook and wrote a line:

> Some people survive their storms. Others become them.

It wasn't a story yet. Just a feeling.

She opened her laptop again. InkVerse. Still no reply.

Was her voice not enough?

Was she not enough?

She looked at Jesse Ray's photo again. The man who had walked out of Sasha's life like it was a stage door. The man whose blood ran through Jayda's veins.

And for the first time, she whispered aloud, "Why did you leave me?"

The room answered with silence.

---

Three days passed. Still nothing from InkVerse. Sasha was still in the hospital, beginning detox.

Jayda's hope started to fray. Doubt crept in - thick, slow, poison.

Then, one night, a message popped up.

No profile picture. No name. Just:

> JRayOldSoul89: You're not the only one digging up ghosts.

Jayda's hands trembled.

She typed back:

> Who are you?

A pause. Then:

> JRayOldSoul89: Someone who should've stayed.

Jayda stared at the screen.

Was it him?

The room swayed around her. Her mouth felt dry. Her heart punched against her ribs.

She typed:

> Are you Jesse Ray?

No reply.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Nothing.

She threw her phone across the couch and curled up beside it, shivering.

Mya wandered in, dragging her blanket.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Jayda nodded. "Yeah, baby. Come here."

She held her sister close and whispered, "I'm trying. I promise I'm trying."

---

In the middle of the night, Jayda had a dream.

She was onstage.

Lights in her face. Microphone in her hand. The crowd waited for her to speak. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.

Only blood.

It dripped down her chin. Splattered the mic. The crowd didn't flinch. They just stared.

Then Jesse Ray stepped out of the shadows.

Not as a father.

But as a man with no eyes.

He whispered, "Keep or burn."

Jayda woke up screaming.

Mya stirred, but didn't wake. Jayda got up, splashed water on her face.

In the mirror, she didn't recognize herself.

She looked too much like Sasha. Too much like a question no one wanted to answer.

---

The next day, Jayda returned to the hospital.

Sasha was awake.

Her voice was raspy. Her eyes glassy. But she was awake.

Jayda didn't know what to say. So she sat. Let the silence fill the room.

Finally, Sasha whispered, "You read the letter."

Jayda nodded.

"Do you hate me for it?"

"No," Jayda said. "But I hate that you let yourself break so long."

Sasha closed her eyes. "Me too."

Then, after a long pause: "He wrote once. Years later. I burned it. I didn't want you to chase him."

Jayda stared at her. "You burned my father's letter?"

"I didn't want him to poison you the way he poisoned me."

Jayda stood. Her hands were fists.

"I'm not you," she said. "I deserve to choose what I forgive."

Then she left the room, heart pounding.

---

Back at home, Jayda pulled up InkVerse one last time.

Still no response.

But she didn't care anymore.

She opened a new document. Started typing:

> This is not a love story. This is not a fairy tale. This is a girl with a pen, burning her own path through the dark.

She titled it: "Daughter of the Storm."

Then she wrote.

Not for them.

Not even for Sasha.

But for herself.