Shards by Olivia Salter | Short Story

 

Shards

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 2,923

The door creaked open, a thin, aching sound that shivered through the narrow hallway, one so familiar it might as well have been her own voice breaking. Inside, the room waited, undisturbed. Dust floated lazily in the slanted beams of afternoon light slipping through the filthy window, settling in patches over the floorboards and the furniture. It had been a bedroom once—a place with life, laughter, warmth—but all that had faded, dulled by the years and her absence. Now it was more of a relic, and Evie felt like she barely belonged.

She stood in the doorway, the air stale and heavy, tasting faintly of old perfume and forgotten things. Her hand drifted along the worn frame, her fingers brushing the grooves she’d once run along as a child. It was the one place she kept returning to, despite herself. Here, in the stillness, she could almost feel her mother’s presence, like an old song buried beneath layers of static.

Her mother’s face came to her in fragments, never all at once. A hand brushing a strand of hair back from her eyes, the soft creases at the corners of her mouth when she smiled, her voice lilting up when she called Evie’s name. Evie wanted to keep that face whole in her mind, hold on to each detail—but no matter how hard she tried, it slipped away, piece by piece, like trying to hold water in her hands.

She took a few steps into the room, the wooden floor creaking beneath her, each step cautious, like she was trespassing. Her eyes fell on the dresser against the far wall. There, propped up between a cracked vase and an old jewelry box, was the photo. She didn’t need to look to know what it showed: her mother’s arm draped around her shoulder, both of them smiling into the camera, the world whole and bright behind them. She’d taken it after her high school graduation, her mother standing tall beside her, pride glowing in her eyes. They hadn’t known then that it would be the last photo they’d take together.

Evie let out a slow, shuddering breath, hugging her arms around herself. She hadn’t seen her mother since that night, not really. Not since the crash.

Her mother had been driving them home, the rain coming down so hard it looked like rivers rushing down the windshield. They’d been laughing, her mother’s voice warm as she sang along with the radio, off-key and joyful. Then the headlights—two burning orbs swallowing the world in an instant—then metal twisting, glass shattering, her mother’s voice cut off mid-laugh.

She blinked hard, pulling herself back to the present. But the memories were already there, creeping back up like weeds through pavement, and she could feel them pressing against her mind, sharp and insistent.

“Do you remember?”

The voice slithered through the silence, barely more than a whisper. Evie stiffened, her gaze flicking to the corners of the room where the shadows seemed to thicken. The voice had started as a faint murmur, almost a memory itself, but lately, it had grown louder, more insistent. She could feel it sometimes, like a presence lingering just behind her, waiting for her to slip.

Her hand brushed something cold on the floor. She glanced down and saw a tiny sliver of glass, a shard almost hidden in the dust. It caught the light, glinting like a small, sharp star. She picked it up, holding it between her fingers. When she angled it toward the window, she could see her reflection—fractured, split into broken lines and angles, her own face divided like a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“You know it was your fault,” the voice murmured, winding closer, as if it were coiling around her ear.

Her throat tightened, her fingers gripping the shard so hard that the edges bit into her skin. Blood beaded along her palm, warm and dark, a small pain that rooted her back in her body. She’d thought the voice was only a figment, something her mind conjured to keep her company in the silence, but it felt real, closer than her own heartbeat.

“No… I didn’t…” she whispered, though her voice wavered. She didn’t even know who she was talking to.

But the voice persisted, soft and venomous, slipping through her defenses. “You distracted her. Laughing, talking. You weren’t paying attention, and neither was she.”

Evie’s breath caught, a cold wave of shame washing over her. She could still see her mother’s face, that warm smile, the glint of her laugh in her eyes. She’d always been a careful driver, always made Evie wear her seatbelt, always double-checked everything. But that night, she’d let go, just for a moment. And Evie had been right there, egging her on, wanting to see her mother laugh, to feel that rare lightness between them.

The pain in her hand sharpened, and she looked down, her gaze catching on the blood that trickled down her palm, staining the glass shard. It was a small wound, insignificant, but it felt right somehow, like a physical reminder of the guilt she carried. She let the blood pool, watching as it darkened and dripped, as if it could somehow make up for all the things she’d lost.

“You think she’d forgive you?” The voice softened, almost pitying now. “She died because of you. You’ve never been anything but broken pieces since then.”

Evie pressed her lips together, her hands shaking. She wanted to argue, to shout back, but the words choked in her throat. Deep down, she knew the voice was right—at least, it was right about one thing. She was nothing but fragments now, bits and pieces of the person she used to be. Her friends had drifted away, her job had faded into something she barely held onto. She moved through the world as if from behind a screen, disconnected, numb. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything real in months—maybe even years.

But here, in this room, with the shard of glass in her hand and her mother’s face lingering in her mind, something stirred. An ache, old and deep, buried under all the silence and numbness. She wanted to see her mother again, wanted to hear her voice, to know if she really blamed her. But the only thing she could hear was the voice, echoing her own thoughts, feeding her fears.

“Do you think she’d want this?” she whispered, clutching the shard as if it were an anchor. “Do you think she’d want me to be like this?”

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, and for a moment, she almost thought the voice would leave her in peace. But then it returned, softer, wrapping around her like smoke.

“You’ll always be like this. You’ll never escape it. You’re nothing but broken pieces.”

A tremor ran through her, her hand tightening around the shard until the pain flared. But this time, she didn’t shrink away from it. This time, she took a deep, shaky breath, grounding herself in the ache, the sensation of her heartbeat pounding in her palm, her blood staining the glass.

“No,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m still here.”

The room felt different now, the shadows pulling back just a little, the air shifting. Her eyes drifted to the photo on the dresser, her mother’s smiling face gazing back at her. That warmth, that love—it had been real, and it was something the voice could never take from her.

She looked down at the shard in her hand, the blood pooling along its edge, and felt the faintest flicker of strength. She was more than this—more than the fragments of guilt, more than the memories that haunted her. She’d survived, even if it had left her scarred and broken. She could keep surviving.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she set the shard back down on the floor and wiped her hand on her jeans, watching the blood smear in streaks. It was a small act, but it felt like a choice—a choice to let go of something she’d held onto for too long.

The voice was quiet now, a faint murmur at the edge of her mind. She knew it wouldn’t disappear entirely; it would linger, waiting for the moments when her strength faltered, when the silence grew too thick. But for now, she had silenced it.

She turned to the door, her hand resting on the knob, and took one last look around the room. The shadows felt less oppressive, the air lighter. Her mother’s face in the photo seemed to smile at her with something like pride, a reminder that she was still here, still capable of carrying on.

Evie opened the door, letting in a sliver of hallway light, cold and sharp. She took a step forward, then another, her movements slow but steady. She could feel the weight of the past pressing on her, the guilt and grief still there, but lighter, something she could bear.

She didn’t know where she was going or what waited for her beyond this room. But as she stepped out into the hallway, she felt a faint, hopeful flicker—a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory, soft and sure, as if she were standing right beside her.

“You’re stronger than you think, Evie. Just keep going.”

With that, Evie left the room behind, her footsteps steady and unhurried, each one carrying her further into the light, into a future she was finally ready to face.

As Evie walked down the hall, the house felt foreign, almost surreal. Each room she passed seemed like a snapshot from a life that no longer belonged to her—a framed photograph of simpler times, a vase holding dried flowers that had long lost their scent. The walls were layered with memories, yet somehow everything felt distant, like the life she’d once known was out of focus, drifting just beyond her reach.

She descended the stairs, the old wood groaning beneath her weight, the sound a steady, rhythmic beat that kept her grounded. The voice was silent now, but its words echoed faintly in her mind, clinging like spider silk to the edges of her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to dispel it, to hold onto the clarity she’d felt just moments before. It was fragile, this newfound resolve, like a delicate thread she could so easily lose if she wasn’t careful.

In the kitchen, she paused, her eyes drifting over the chipped countertop, the faded wallpaper that her mother had once been so proud of. She could almost see her mother standing there, stirring a pot on the stove, her eyes crinkling in a smile when she turned to Evie. The warmth of that memory softened the ache in her chest, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel it fully, without the bitterness or guilt.

Her fingers brushed over a half-opened drawer, and inside, she spotted a small stack of handwritten recipes. Her mother’s looping handwriting danced across each card, the ink slightly smudged in places where she’d written too quickly. Evie lifted one of the cards—a recipe for her mother’s peach cobbler, a favorite they’d made together every summer. She could almost smell the sweetness, hear the laughter they’d shared as they peeled the peaches, her mother’s steady hands guiding her own clumsy fingers.

She took a shaky breath, folding the recipe in her hand and holding it close, as if it were a relic of something sacred. For so long, she’d avoided these things, these little pieces of her mother’s life. The scent of peach cobbler baking had once filled this kitchen, the laughter, the hum of music playing from the radio on the counter. All of it had been too painful to revisit, a reminder of what she’d lost. But now, standing here, she felt a new warmth, a gentle ache that wasn’t entirely sorrow.

Evie glanced around the kitchen, noticing for the first time how the light played off the walls, softening the worn edges of the space. She’d always imagined that moving forward meant erasing the past, leaving behind these moments and memories that were tinged with grief. But maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe healing was allowing herself to carry them, to let these memories live alongside her pain, until they became something she could look back on with love instead of guilt.

As she moved to the sink, she caught sight of her own reflection in the small window above it. She looked tired, her face pale and shadowed, but there was something different there, a faint spark she hadn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t confidence, not yet, but it was a start—a tiny glimmer of who she used to be, a girl who’d once believed in hope, in laughter, in love.

She heard a soft shuffle behind her, and for a moment, her heart leapt, thinking it was her mother, come to tell her it was all just a bad dream. But when she turned, it was only the empty hallway stretching behind her, silent and still. A sigh escaped her, part disappointment, part acceptance. Her mother was gone, and she had to make peace with that. But the life they’d shared together, the love they’d woven into these walls—that was something she could still hold onto.

Evie walked to the front door, her fingers trailing along the cool banister as she went. When she opened the door, the afternoon light flooded in, illuminating the dust that hung in the air, turning each particle into a tiny, floating star. She stepped outside, the air crisp and alive, filling her lungs with a freshness she hadn’t felt in years. The scent of cut grass and distant honeysuckle brushed against her senses, mingling with the warmth of sunlight on her face.

The world outside felt open, vast in a way that was both frightening and exhilarating. For so long, she’d been trapped in that house, in her mind, haunted by memories she couldn’t bear to face. But now, as she looked up at the sky, she felt the pull of possibility, the vastness of all the things she might yet experience, if only she let herself.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a jarring reminder of the life that awaited her beyond this moment. She pulled it out, her fingers hovering over the screen. A missed call from her friend Rachel. She’d ignored Rachel’s calls for weeks, hiding from everyone who knew her, from everyone who cared. It felt like an impossible task, explaining what she’d been through, why she’d vanished. But maybe she didn’t have to explain, not fully. Maybe all she had to do was reach out, let someone in.

She dialed Rachel’s number before she could talk herself out of it, pressing the phone to her ear. The ring felt endless, each second stretching until finally, Rachel’s voice crackled through, warm and surprised.

“Evie? Oh my god, is that you?”

Evie’s voice came out softer than she’d intended, her throat tightening with emotion. “Yeah, it’s me.”

There was a pause, the weight of unspoken questions filling the silence. But Rachel didn’t ask them. Instead, her voice softened, a kindness that made Evie’s chest ache with gratitude. “I’ve missed you, Evie. You have no idea.”

“I… I missed you too.” The words were simple, but saying them felt like letting down a wall she’d built up for so long.

“Do you want to grab a coffee? Or maybe go for a walk? I could come by, if that’s better.”

Evie hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the house, the memories still heavy in the air behind her. But then she looked to the open street, the world beyond, and felt a quiet resolve settle within her. “A walk sounds good. I think I could use some fresh air.”

Rachel’s laughter was soft and familiar, wrapping around her like a warm embrace. “Alright. I’ll meet you at the park in an hour?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

They hung up, and Evie slipped her phone back into her pocket, her pulse steady and sure. She looked back at the house one last time, letting her eyes linger on the faded walls, the chipped paint, the window where she’d just seen her reflection. It would always hold a piece of her, a part of her heart and memory. But it didn’t have to be a place of isolation, a monument to her pain.

With a quiet smile, she turned away and started down the path, her steps slow but purposeful. The weight of her grief was still there, but lighter now, softened by something new. She knew she’d have moments of weakness, nights when the voice would return, when the memories would overwhelm her. But she wasn’t alone anymore. She had Rachel, the faint warmth of friendship rekindled, and her mother’s love tucked safely in her heart.

As she walked, the sun dipped lower, casting her shadow long and thin along the path. She thought of her mother’s words again, those last whispers of strength and guidance. “You’re stronger than you think, Evie. Just keep going.”

And she would. Step by step, day by day, she would carry that love forward, letting it guide her into a future that, for the first time in a long while, felt worth exploring.