The house was quiet, the kind of heavy silence that follows a long day of saying nothing at all. Leo sat at the kitchen table, watching the condensation drip down a glass of water. In the other room, Clara was hummed a tune—something light, something meant to sound like she was okay.
"I can't be what you want me to be," Leo said, finally letting the truth out. "I wish I could make your heart believe it’s okay, but I'm a bad liar". Bad Liar
For months, they had lived in what looked like a "perfect paradise" to anyone peering through the window. They went to dinners, laughed at the right times, and planned for a future that felt increasingly like a script they were forced to read. But inside, everything was "tearing at the seams". The house was quiet, the kind of heavy