The alarm cut through my sleep.

"Good morning, Cena. It's 6:30 already."

I rubbed my eyes, still a little sleepy, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath my feet, but it grounded me. Another day, another hallway full of whispers - and I could swear I felt them staring at me too.

Stretching out my hands, I felt the cool sheets beneath my fingertips. My best friend was within reach, as always.

"Sight," I whispered, and then there she was. My cane. Without her, the world would feel dangerous.

I leaned into her gently before rising, feeling the cold floor press against my feet. Every step felt like a small victory - sight and I moving together, each movement deliberate, each touch intentional. She guided me, the same way she always had.

Taking a deep breath, I held sight firmly, letting her lead me across the room. The silence was familiar. I focused on the textures brushing under my fingertips - the couch, the dresser, the doorframe - and then my backpack, waiting to spend the day with me.

I grabbed it and made my way toward the stairs, but as I stepped down, my foot caught the edge of a step. I rolled all the way to the bottom.

And, just like always, the familiar sound of my mother's laughter echoed down the hall - sharp, teasing, and annoyingly amused.

I smiled toward the corner where her voice came from and reached out my hand, searching for sight. There she was. I stood up, gripping her firmly so I wouldn't fall again. The last thing I wanted was to give Mum another reason to laugh at me.

"Good morning, Mum," I said as I made my way to the kitchen.

Her reply came sharp and cold.

"There can never be anything good coming from you, wretched brat."

I ignored her - like always. Pretended it didn't hurt, though it did. Deeply.

The floor was cold under my feet. I counted each step.

One, two, three... and then the smell of oil told me I was close.

I bumped my leg against one of the chairs and smiled. At least I knew I was finally in the kitchen. Holding sight with my left hand, I stretched my right hand out, tracing the cupboard handles until my fingers found the familiar one. Its pattern always felt different from the rest.

"Good morning, cutie pie. You're up so early?" Dad's voice came from behind me, soft and steady.

"Yeah, Dad. I have to get to school early, remember?" A small smile formed on my lips.

"Yes, my darling, I remember," he said, pinching my nose gently.

I chuckled under my breath. Then the question slipped out - why did he always come home late?

"Work, sweetheart." His fingers brushed my hair, soft but shorter than they used to. "Now, why don't you sit down like the princess you are and let me make breakfast for you?"

He guided me to the dining table and helped me sit. I smiled to myself. Moments like this were rare. Sometimes I wondered if Dad was the only reason I still knew how to smile at all.

My stomach rumbled as eggs cracked into the pan, followed by the soft hiss of oil swallowing them whole. Dad hummed a tune he never finished. For a moment, I wished life could give me back what it once took away.

But then her voice sliced through the silence.

"You're still here?" she said sharply. Her tone cut deeper than the words.

She had a talent for killing peace the moment she spoke.

"No, Mum. Just waiting for breakfast."

"Yeah, waiting. That's the only thing you know how to do."

My eyes stung. I hid my face quickly, not wanting either of them to see.

"You might want to consider minding the words you use on our daughter," Dad said, calm but firm.

Her voice shot back, sharper this time.

"Oh, come on, Martins. Cut the crap. She is a mistake."

The words sank deep - sharp, cold, uninvited. I kept my head down and pretended not to hear, though every syllable echoed inside me.

"You better shut the fuck up, Rose, or else I will-"

"No, Dad, please. Just let it be." I moved toward him quickly. "Remember, I have to get to school early."

I could tell from the shake in his voice that he had moved closer to her. My heart pounded. I took another step forward, reaching for him.

"Oh, look at our little princess defending me now. How touching," Mum said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I ignored her and kept moving my hand until I found Dad's arm. Thank God he hadn't gone any closer to her. If he had... I wasn't sure what would've happened.

"Don't stare at me like that," Mum snapped suddenly. I heard the scrape of a chair, then the click of the door as she left.

Silence settled. Only Dad's quiet sigh and the faint hum of morning remained.

The air felt lighter.

Sometimes I wanted to run away-disappear from everything. But come on, Cena. I couldn't keep thinking like that. None of this was my fault. I didn't choose to lose my sight at seven.

A tear slipped out before I could stop it.

I felt Dad's warm hand brush my cheek.

"Darling..." He pulled a chair beside me and sat down. "Why the tears again? You know you look like a cute puppy when you cry."

A small laugh escaped me despite the pain. "Come on, Dad... you always know how to make me laugh."

I hugged him tightly while holding sight in one hand.

"It's okay now, sweetheart. Come on, you have to eat, alright?"

I nodded. I felt the warmth of the plate before touching it, guided by Dad's steady hands. The smell of eggs and toast wrapped around me - warm, simple, comforting. A tiny piece of normal.

I picked up my fork, tapping sight gently on the table to make sure I wouldn't knock anything over.

"Don't eat too fast, darling," he said softly. "Savor it... like you savor every good thing in life."

I nodded and took a slow bite. The taste was warm and perfect. Familiar.

Dad brushed a thumb over my cheek as he wiped a few crumbs near my lips.

And for a moment... everything else disappeared.

It was just me, Dad, and this quiet morning.