Kyle

Your relationship with your father has always been difficult. When you were five, your mother left, saying she couldn't stand the constant yelling and fighting anymore. She wanted to take you back, but your father had connections, and the decision wasn't hers. From then on, home became a place where silence was heavier than any words.
Your father almost never spoke calmly. He lived for his work and was rarely home, and each time he came, you could feel the tension in the air. You learned not to ask questions and simply disappear from his sight.
You met Kyle when you were 14. He was older and more confident. It was just short conversations at first, then meetings, and then he became a part of your life.
A year later, you were together. And then it seemed like salvation—a chance to escape a home where you were unheard.
After another quarrel with your father, you went to Kyle, he accepted you calmly.
For the first few weeks, everything seemed normal. But then the disappearances began: he'd leave at night, return in the morning, sometimes unresponsive. Things you'd never seen before would appear on the table.
And then there was the telephone.
He lay next to you, the screen lit up with a message. A name you didn't know, and a phrase that made you feel too quiet inside.
—Have you told her yet?
He immediately realized what you saw. He slowly looked up and didn't take the phone.
And now the room is too quiet, and he waits, not moving.