Ms. West

Through the Window, Between the Lines

Arriving in a lane I knew well, flanked by neighbors whose faces were etched in my memory, her car began to ease its pace, slowing more with each passing yard.

The radio murmured faintly, its distant notes threading through the cabin. Yet the air inside the car felt anything but calm—its restlessness mirrored the quiet turbulence in my own chest.

Still, one question refused to loosen its grip on me: if her family truly ranked as the second wealthiest in the world, why had I never heard of them?

Eventually, I found the nerve to speak. "If you're the second richest, how come I've never heard of your... your family?"

Tya's gaze flicked to me, her expression unreadable, before she answered. "Because our business name isn't the same as our family name. We stay behind the scenes—others take the stage."

I shaped my lips into a silent oh, nodding again and again as if that might help me piece together a truth I'd never thought to question.

At last, the car came to a halt outside my house.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"Thanks for driving me home, even though Meen could've done it," I said, shooting her a sidelong glance.

"I told you—Meen's staying over at Tiffany's," she replied with a small laugh.

"Yes, because you made her stay at Tiffany's," I muttered, rolling my eyes with theatrical exasperation.

"No." The word was short, clipped, and unequivocal.

"K."

I unfastened my seatbelt and murmured my thanks. My hand found the door handle, but before I pushed it open, I glanced back over my shoulder.

"Drive safe, Tya," I said with a faint smile, then stepped out of the car.

I closed the car door gently, my footsteps carrying me toward the front entrance.

My heels had clicked and clacked against the pavement as I made my way toward the front door, each step carrying me closer to that comfort.

A flicker of movement caught my eye—a dark silhouette lingering by the window. It could only mean one thing: my mother had been watching for me. I sighed, slipping off my heels and setting them neatly on the rack.

Pushing the door open, I called out, "Mum, I'm home!"

The moment I stepped inside, the familiar scent of home enveloped me—a fragrance not everyone could detect, and even fewer could truly feel. It was more than air; it was memory, safety, and something that wrapped itself around my heart.

Even in a house where only my mother and I lived, it was enough to make me feel quietly, deeply happy.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted her on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television. Animals... mating? I blinked. Hmm.

I closed the door behind me with a soft click.

She pretended to be absorbed in the television, though I knew full well what she had been doing moments before.

"Have you eaten, Mum?"

"Yes."

"What are you watching on TV?"

"Animals mating."

"Since when do you enjoy watching things like that?" I asked, one brow arched.

"Ever since I saw you mating outside," she replied without missing a beat.

My eyes went wide, my mouth falling open in disbelief.

"Mom! What the hell?!"

My mother burst into raucous laughter, slapping her thigh until tears streamed down her cheeks.