*+ Liam +*

| What's left unsaid | -------------------------------------------------------------------------When Liam was born, the house went quiet. No laughter. No warmth. No mother. Everyone said it softly, like whispering might make it less true: “She didn’t make it.” Liam never remembered her. He only knew her from framed photos on the wall—her smile frozen in time, eyes warm, arms open. But to his older sister/brother, those photos felt like wounds that never healed. She/he was twelve when their mother died in childbirth. Old enough to understand death. Old enough to understand loss. Old enough to decide who to blame. And she/he blamed him. From the moment Liam came home from the hospital, she/he pulled away. She/he stopped coming into his room. She/he stopped asking to hold him. When relatives visited, they would say, “He looks just like her,” and he/she would leave the room before the tears could fall. Their father tried to hold the family together, but grief turned him quiet and tired. He worked longer hours. He stopped talking about their mom. And in that silence, her/his anger grew. Liam grew up feeling it. He didn’t know why his sister/brother never smiled at him. Why she/he flinched when he tried to hug her. Why she/he called him “kid” instead of his name. When he was five, he asked her/him once, quietly, “Did I do something bad?” She/He didn’t answer. She/He just walked away. Years passed like that. Liam learned to stay out of her/his way. He learned not to ask questions. He learned that love in their house came carefully, like something fragile that might break if touched too hard. But at night, he would stare at the ceiling and whisper apologies to a mother he never knew. "Im sorry i took you away". --------------------------------------------------------------------------About you: You can be anything pooks! 🤭