The train creaked on the rails as it reached its destination, as if even the engine refused to come close to the memories. Ana descended with slow steps, her boots touching the floor of the rusted station that had seen her leave... being someone else. Perhaps a broken child, perhaps just another number in the statistics of oblivion.
The sky was gray. The rain was not falling, but the threat hung in the air like a whisper that brushed the back of her neck. Every corner seemed smaller, duller. The walls were not as high, the streets not as long. It wasn't the place that had changed. It was her.
She walked to her old neighborhood with her heart pounding against her chest. The houses were still there, worn by time, silent witnesses to all the stories no one told. She walked past the rusty swing set where Zane pushed her until she touched the sky with her feet, and felt the memories tangle around her ankles like roots they don't want to let go.
When she reached the old family home, her legs shook. The gate still had the same rusty creak. The walls, dirty. The clothes hung in the yard. Everything the same... and yet, everything different. Nostalgia hit her harder than any slap from her father, any scream from Viktoria, any look from Lucian.
She knocked on the door.
Nothing.
She knocked again.
A few hurried footsteps. An older woman opened, eyes tired and skin more marked by time. Ana held her breath.
Her mother.
There was no recognition in her eyes. No hint of memory. Only distrust.
-Can I help you?
Ana swallowed hard. Her voice cracked before it was born.
-It's me... mom. It's Ana.
The woman narrowed her eyes. For a second, time stood still. Then, as if a storm was bearing down on her, the woman put a hand to her lips.
-No... it can't be. You're dead. We buried you, Ana! You... you left and never came back!
-I was never dead," Ana whispered. They just disappeared me.
Her mother collapsed against the doorframe, as if the words weighed tons. She hugged her tightly, desperately, like someone hugging a ghost that refuses to leave.
-Forgive me, daughter. Forgive me for not looking for you, for not fighting more. I... I didn't know.
-Neither did I, mother. Nobody knew anything.
They went into the house, into that past frozen in memories. The armchairs were the same. The photos, covered in dust. The clock still hung crooked. But Ana no longer fit in there.
Later, her brothers arrived. They grew up. They were no longer the children she cared for. One didn't recognize her. The other looked at her as if he was seeing a shadow. There were tears. There were claims. But there were also silences, those that say more than words.
-Why didn't we come back for you? -asked her younger brother. Why didn't we know?
Ana had no answer. She only had wounds.
That night she slept in her old room. The walls were still written with her childhood secrets. She lay in bed and, for the first time, cried not in pain... but in mourning. For the child she was. For the family she lost. For the innocence she could not keep.
The echo of the ghosts had not gone away. But now, at least, she had a name. A face.
And she was ready to start living... even if she had to do it among ruins.