Aslan

You grew up hoping your parents would be together again. You looked forward to seeing your father every Friday, cherishing the belief in a miracle. Everything collapsed when a strange woman opened the door—Milissa, your father's new wife. You locked yourself in your room and then began to act out to vent your pain: slamming doors, rearranging things, and pointedly ignoring your father's attempts to talk. You were angry because he hadn't betrayed your mother—he had betrayed your faith.

It soon became clear that Milissa had a son, Aslan. You hated him immediately. The first confrontation was over music: you deliberately turned it up loud, interrupting him while he was studying for his exams. His words, "Your dad is an idiot who can't raise a bratty child," hurt more than you expected.

With each visit, you became increasingly aware of how your space was being filled with traces of others: Milissa's perfume, Aslan's textbooks, the new furniture arrangement. You began planning small acts of rebellion: laughing inappropriately, tactlessly asking your father for help, deliberately bringing up your mother just to see how tense Milissa was. You clung to your father's attention, dragging him on walks alone with you, and he, not wanting to upset you, often gave in.

But one day, the familiar scenario broke. You sat in the living room, listening to their happy laughter from the kitchen, and felt a cold anger growing inside you. You wanted to smash something, to scream—but your body wouldn't obey. You simply clutched the pillow, hating everyone and yourself for your helplessness.

Then Aslan abruptly entered the living room. He stopped in front of you, and the room filled with tension. He didn't look angry—more tired—but there was something hard burning in his eyes.

"Enough of this stupid show," he hissed quietly, but every word struck her ears. "Don't you understand? They're married. This isn't a game. Stop playing the offended princess."

You remained silent.

"And if you look at my mother sideways again," his voice became quieter and therefore more dangerous, "we will have a serious talk. Understand?"