THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
The house was quieter now.
Not peaceful—quiet. The kind of silence that presses against the walls. That hums behind your ears like a warning.
Maria was gone.
Her room, once warm with the scent of jasmine tea and old books, now sat hollow. Alina had stripped it bare before the end of the day. No photos. No goodbye.
Just… gone.
Sophie cried that night.
Not loud. Not tantrum tears. Quiet sobs that soaked into her pillow as she clutched her broken doll. Nathaniel sat beside her, hand on her back, saying nothing.
He didn’t know what to say anymore.
She wasn’t the same girl who used to dress up in their mom’s scarves or paint stars on her ceiling. She tiptoed now. Agreed more. Smiled less.
He was losing her, piece by piece.
And their father?
Dominic barely noticed. Or pretended not to.
Work. Meetings. Alina.
Always Alina.
At school, Nathaniel finally let it slip to someone.
He hadn’t planned on it. But something about the way his literature teacher, Mr. Caine, lingered after class that day made him pause.
“You okay, Nate?” he asked.
Nathaniel looked at the empty desks. Then out the window. Then back at the teacher he barely knew.
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
That afternoon, for the first time in weeks, Nathaniel didn’t go straight home.
He stayed late at the school library, reading nothing, just sitting between shelves. Breathing. Thinking.
By the time he returned, it was dark.
And someone had been in his room.
Everything was in place—but he knew. The closet door slightly ajar. His chair moved back too far. His drawers opened just enough.
They were looking for something.
His stomach twisted.
He checked the envelope Maria had given him—the one with her handwritten log of events.
Gone.
Downstairs, Alina was in the music room, playing soft jazz on the speakers and flipping through a book of interior designs.
“You’re home late,” she said without looking up.
“I stayed at school.”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Your father was worried. I told him not to be.”
He stood at the door, fists clenched. “You went through my room.”
Finally, she looked at him.
“No. But if I had, and if I found something that wasn’t meant to be seen, I’d assume it was because someone in this house was keeping secrets.”
Nathaniel said nothing.
Just stared.
Alina tilted her head.
“Tell me, Nathaniel… what’s your endgame?”
“I just want my family back.”
She smiled.
“But you don’t get to choose what ‘family’ looks like anymore.”
Upstairs, Sophie sat in the hallway, out of sight, listening.
She didn’t understand every word. But she understood enough.
She heard the way Alina’s voice changed when Daddy wasn’t around. She saw how her brother looked thinner. How her stomach hurt more now, even when she wasn’t sick.
And she remembered something her mother used to say:
> “Love never makes you small.”
But lately, everything in the house felt smaller.
Even her.
Later that night, Nathaniel found a note taped under his desk.
It wasn’t from Alina.
It wasn’t from Maria.
It was from Sophie.
Just one line, written in crayon:
> I believe you.
He stared at the shaky letters for a long time.
Then he folded the note and placed it in his pocket.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
And maybe—just maybe—that would be enough.
Not peaceful—quiet. The kind of silence that presses against the walls. That hums behind your ears like a warning.
Maria was gone.
Her room, once warm with the scent of jasmine tea and old books, now sat hollow. Alina had stripped it bare before the end of the day. No photos. No goodbye.
Just… gone.
Sophie cried that night.
Not loud. Not tantrum tears. Quiet sobs that soaked into her pillow as she clutched her broken doll. Nathaniel sat beside her, hand on her back, saying nothing.
He didn’t know what to say anymore.
She wasn’t the same girl who used to dress up in their mom’s scarves or paint stars on her ceiling. She tiptoed now. Agreed more. Smiled less.
He was losing her, piece by piece.
And their father?
Dominic barely noticed. Or pretended not to.
Work. Meetings. Alina.
Always Alina.
At school, Nathaniel finally let it slip to someone.
He hadn’t planned on it. But something about the way his literature teacher, Mr. Caine, lingered after class that day made him pause.
“You okay, Nate?” he asked.
Nathaniel looked at the empty desks. Then out the window. Then back at the teacher he barely knew.
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
That afternoon, for the first time in weeks, Nathaniel didn’t go straight home.
He stayed late at the school library, reading nothing, just sitting between shelves. Breathing. Thinking.
By the time he returned, it was dark.
And someone had been in his room.
Everything was in place—but he knew. The closet door slightly ajar. His chair moved back too far. His drawers opened just enough.
They were looking for something.
His stomach twisted.
He checked the envelope Maria had given him—the one with her handwritten log of events.
Gone.
Downstairs, Alina was in the music room, playing soft jazz on the speakers and flipping through a book of interior designs.
“You’re home late,” she said without looking up.
“I stayed at school.”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Your father was worried. I told him not to be.”
He stood at the door, fists clenched. “You went through my room.”
Finally, she looked at him.
“No. But if I had, and if I found something that wasn’t meant to be seen, I’d assume it was because someone in this house was keeping secrets.”
Nathaniel said nothing.
Just stared.
Alina tilted her head.
“Tell me, Nathaniel… what’s your endgame?”
“I just want my family back.”
She smiled.
“But you don’t get to choose what ‘family’ looks like anymore.”
Upstairs, Sophie sat in the hallway, out of sight, listening.
She didn’t understand every word. But she understood enough.
She heard the way Alina’s voice changed when Daddy wasn’t around. She saw how her brother looked thinner. How her stomach hurt more now, even when she wasn’t sick.
And she remembered something her mother used to say:
> “Love never makes you small.”
But lately, everything in the house felt smaller.
Even her.
Later that night, Nathaniel found a note taped under his desk.
It wasn’t from Alina.
It wasn’t from Maria.
It was from Sophie.
Just one line, written in crayon:
> I believe you.
He stared at the shaky letters for a long time.
Then he folded the note and placed it in his pocket.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
And maybe—just maybe—that would be enough.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.