The jam jar was nearly empty.
Ulmea slowly scraped a spoon in the glass jar, not because she wanted more of the jam, but because she found something to do that broke the uncomfortable silence.
Across the table, Liora sat quietly stirring her tea. Her eyes never left the cup. She hadn't said a word since she came down. Neither her father nor her uncle. As if silence could make it all disappear.
Everyone sat quietly. Even Alex, the most talkative person sitting there was silent. No one talked. It was as if the whole house was pretending breakfast was just breakfast, not the night after betrayal.
It was strange.
Everything looked the same in the morning.
Same plates. Same cups.
Only the air felt different. Like the house had aged overnight.
Ulmea took a bite of the toast. Chewed. Swallowed. She wasn't sure if it even tasted like anything.
Everyone looked distant today. She thought to herself.
"I'm not used to this silence. It feels rather awkward. " She thought.
___
The classroom felt colder than usual.
Ulmea sat beside her friend, Lora, at the desk near the window. An open notebook lay in front of her, and she absentmindedly clicked a pen in her hand as she listened to the teacher.
The teacher's voice carried on, explaining about metaphors and poetic tone. Ulmea was nodding at the teacher, she was listening to her. She heard her. The words just didn't stay.
The sky outside the window looked. The sun was shining as usual but the sky looked like something that had lost its colour. It was pale,... no paler. Like silence on paper.
Lora sat beside her, scribbling notes quickly, hair tucked behind one ear. Every few minutes, she glanced at Ulmea — but never really looked.
Because Ulmea didn't look any different. She was sitting upright. Pen in hand. Her usual half-smile was gone, but not missing enough to notice.
"If I say something," she thought, "will they hear how heavy it feels… or will they only hear me speaking?"
But she didn't speak.
She never really spoke much in class anyway — even though people said she was confident. Bright. Talkative when it mattered. But during lessons, she stayed quiet.
So no one noticed that today's silence meant something else.
Not even Lora.
___
The room smelled faintly of cigarettes and ash. It smelled rather disgusting. But who cares..?
Asher Vance leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the edges of the folder that rested on the desk in front of him. Beside the folder, there sat a black briefcase on the desk.
"The deal is sealed," He said, not looking up.
"The Canal Road property. Signed, sealed, moved. Buyer's anonymous, papers clean."
Silas, his son nodded once. He didn't smile.
"And the buyer?" He asked.
Asher waved a dismissive hand.
"It doesn't matter. The buyer is an old man with new money. Out of the country. Couldn't care less who built the road. He just wanted a piece of land in Kalvot to view." He said.
Then, Asher looked up finally.
" What matters is, we sold Sabir's shadow." He smirked.
Silas raised a brow. " And what did we buy in return?"
Asher's smirk returned. He leaned forward and opened the suitcase lying on the desk with a small click. It was full of money. It was full of dollars... millions of dollars.
"We bought silence," he said. "And our future."
Silas stepped forward. His eyes were not on the money but, on the meaning behind that.
Asher circled behind him like a lecturer behind a student.
"You know what your grandfather did wrong?" he asked. "He built everything on name. On respect. Thought the world would protect it just because he meant well."
He poured himself some more tea. His voice was smooth, like he had said these lines before.
"Respect doesn't hold ground. Money does."
"That road," he added, "wasn't just cement. It was a memory. And memory is cheap when no one fights to keep it."
Silas glanced at the briefcase, then back toward the window. "The family won't stay quiet forever."
"Let them talk," Asher muttered. "They always do. And then they fold. They always fold."
He pushed a sealed envelope across the table toward his son.
"Your share. Already cleaned. Offshore."
Silas looked down at the envelope, then picked it up as though it might crumble in his hand.
"You're not worried they'll retaliate?" he asked.
Asher's jaw tightened, his voice lowering.
"They won't. They're still clinging to ghosts. I've already buried them."
A silence settled.
Silas finally spoke, voice quieter, less sure — or perhaps just more dangerous.
"You ever wonder," he said, "if maybe we've sold something we can't buy back?"
Asher raised a brow, "What is that, guilt?"
Silas smiled faintly. "No," he said. "Just wondering how high a name can be priced before it becomes worthless."
Asher chuckled, short and sharp.
"The name died with Sabir. We're just cashing in on the corpse."
He took a sip, eyes dark and steady.
"And by the time they realise it, we'll be somewhere else. Building something new. With our name."
Silas nodded once.
"Fair enough," he murmured.
He turned toward the window again, watching the world go on. Silent, unaware.
"The living don't weep for legacies," he said. "Only the ones too weak to keep them."
Asher grinned. "Now you're learning."
He closed the briefcase with a soft click, a sound too final for a morning so bright.
In the corner, the photograph of Sabir Ali gazed out from the wall, arms folded, smile firm, like a man who once believed names could outlive men.
But neither of them turned to see it.
___
The school bus pulled up at the house, Its engine rattled before it stopped.
Ulmea got off first, followed by Flossy and Alex. They walked through the gate quietly, their bags dragging a little heavier than usual.
The sun was still up, but the house looked sleepy.
They stepped into the yard. It was quiet as usual, but it felt unusual... still.
They pushed the front door open. They walked inside the suite.
"We're home," Flossy said, her voice a little softer than usual.
No one answered.
Only the sound of a ceiling fan turning slowly and the clinking of a spoon from the kitchen.
Ulmea looked around. The living room was tidy. Too tidy.
Like someone had cleaned it early in the morning, maybe to forget last night. But the memory was still there. It always was.
Alex looked around too.
"Where's Dad?" he asked not because he didn't know but because he thought that their dad would be home after everything happened last night.
"At work," Ulmea replied." Brother Aslan and brother Riley too."
"Everyone's busy today," she added.
They started going upstairs. No one said much.
But it wasn't just quiet.
It was the aftermath.
The kind where everyone knows, but no one says.
The kind where you get back to routine, but nothing's the same.
Ulmea paused on the second step, looking back once.
The sitting room still looked neat. Too neat.
Like someone had cleaned it to erase a memory, but memories don't live in cushions or carpets.
They live in the air.
And this air hadn't moved on yet.
Ulmea went inside her room.
She closed the door behind her gently, as if the house might wake up if it made a sound.
The room was warm because of the sunlight.
Dust floated in the air, catching the light near the window.
Everything was in its place, bed made, books stacked, curtains half drawn, but it didn't feel the same.
She dropped her bag beside the chair and sat on the edge of the bed.
For a few moments, she didn't move.
She looked outside the window.
Watching the branches outside the window sway with the wind.
The same view as always. The same tree planted by grandma, Mrs. Sabir, she remembered. Though, no one talked about it anymore.
She leaned back, resting her palms on the blanket behind her.
Her eyes were half-closed now, not tired, just full.
"Everyone's acting normal," she thought. "Like it was just another fight. Like it'll pass."
But this didn't feel like a fight.
It felt like something had been taken.
Something big. And no one could get it back.
She remembered the shouting, the names, the slammed fists.
Her father's voice still echoed in her ears, "That was our father's work."
And now it was gone.
Sold. Quietly.
She reached for the notebook on her bedside table and opened it to a blank page. Her pen hovered.
She didn't know what to write.
So instead, she drew a single crooked line down the middle of the paper.
Then closed the book.
"They keep taking, and we keep watching..."
Everyone looks deistaa