The broken path

The house was unusually quiet when Mary returned from school. She dropped her bag by the door, half-hoping for Mark's voice to call out from the kitchen, teasing her about something trivial. But the house wasn't the same since he'd left.

Instead, her father's voice greeted her. "Mary, in the living room," Mr. David called, his tone firm.

Mary braced herself, taking a deep breath before walking in. Mr. David sat at the dining table with a stack of papers—her recent grades—spread out in front of him. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable.

"You're slipping," he said, tapping the papers with his finger. "I know Mark's absence has been hard, but you can't let it affect your studies. We've invested so much in your education, Mary. You're supposed to set an example."

Mary felt the familiar sting of his words, but this time, they cut deeper. She had tried her best to keep up, to fill the void left by Mark's departure, but it wasn't enough. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Sorry doesn't fix this," Mr. David continued. "Do you know how much pressure I'm under at work? How hard is your mother and I working to provide for you and Mark? The least you can do is hold up your end."

Mary nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wanted to tell him about the nights she stayed up trying to study, the overwhelming weight of Mona's taunts, and the way her own thoughts seemed to betray her at every turn. But the words wouldn't come.

Later that evening, as she sat alone in her room, Mary stared at a photo of Mark on her bedside table. It was taken a year ago, on a family hike. They were both laughing, arms slung around each other, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Her mind drifted to the incident—the one she never spoke about. The night she had convinced Mark to sneak out with her, the sharp sound of his bike skidding on the gravel, and the sight of him clutching his arm, wincing in pain. It had been a minor accident, but the guilt had stayed with her, growing heavier with each passing day.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. But it was always there, lurking in the corners of her mind, whispering that she wasn't good enough—that she didn't deserve the life she had.

Mary was seen pulling out her textbooks, determined to study, even as tears blurred her vision. Her father's words echoed in her mind, and the weight of her guilt threatened to consume her.