Fractured Reflections

** This story addresses themes of mental health and a traumatic home life. **

My mother always said I had a vivid imagination, but I knew the house with the yellow siding existed. My memories of it were brief but vivid. We moved there just before my tenth-grade year, marking the start of one of the most turbulent times in my life.

Our family was never particularly close. Conflict and tension defined our dynamic — a manipulative mother, an authoritarian and emotionally absent father, and a sister who had once been my companion out of necessity rather than choice. During childhood, we clung to each other because we had no one else.

My mom bought the yellow house with dreams of a fresh start. After years of financial struggle and barely any help from my dad, she managed to scrape together the 20% down payment. She envisioned paying it off quickly, living there comfortably, and retiring debt-free. But reality rarely follows dreams.

The house became a burden she had to bear alone. My sister resented the move, forced to leave her friends and transfer schools in her senior year. She missed out on sharing her graduation with the people she’d grown up with. My dad, uninterested and indifferent, contributed nothing. He hadn't wanted the house in the first place, and he certainly wasn’t about to invest in it — financially or emotionally. Even if he had wanted a house, it wouldn’t have been that one or in that location. He would have chosen a place in the country, where he could live out his years in peace and quiet. But my mom never would have bothered to consider his opinion.

The one who should have come out of it all relatively well was me. I had a few years of high school left, and while I had friends and hobbies I enjoyed at my old school, I was independent and outgoing. Fitting in had never been an issue. I quickly found my footing at the new school, joining a tight-knit friend group that, in many ways, felt even closer than the one I’d left behind. I excelled academically and thrived in extracurriculars, earning multiple awards in athletics and eventually securing a full scholarship to college. Strangely, instead of pride, my accomplishments only stirred resentment within my family — particularly from my mother. While my future looked bright, hers seemed to unravel. And rather than celebrating my success, she seethed, unable to hide her jealousy as the cracks in her carefully constructed façade began to show.

The few years I spent in the yellow house were steeped in turmoil. By the time college rolled around, I couldn’t wait to leave. It felt like the answer to countless prayers — a long-awaited escape from the toxicity that had surrounded me for so long. Once I arrived on campus, I hit my stride. I adjusted seamlessly to my academics, made friends easily, and threw myself into every opportunity that came my way. At one point, a friend even joked that walking across campus with me was like strolling alongside a celebrity — it seemed like everyone knew me by name.

But eventually, the cracks beneath my polished surface began to show. On the outside, I was thriving — juggling classes, sorority life, student government, parties, and fleeting romances. Yet I couldn’t ignore the unsettling duality. For the first time, I experienced relationships that weren’t toxic. My friends genuinely cared, offering support without strings attached. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling. But when conflict inevitably arose, even the smallest disagreement sent my anxiety spiraling. My emotions magnified everything, turning minor misunderstandings into insurmountable crises.

After one too many blow-ups, I knew something had to change. With a knot in my stomach and a racing heart, I finally walked through the doors of the campus counseling center — hoping, for once, to make sense of it all.

My counselor helped me untangle the experiences that had shaped me — not just the memories from my childhood, but also the turmoil that defined my years in the yellow house. She explained the layers behind my mom’s competitiveness toward me, and how my success only intensified the pity she felt for my sister.

Part of me felt compassion for my mom, knowing she carried so many demons from her own past. But another part of me couldn’t shake the frustration. She had countless opportunities to face her pain, yet instead, she chose to bury it — unleashing it on me without a second thought.

When I went home for Christmas break after my junior year of college, I couldn’t wait to catch up with my best friend, Danielle. I had chosen to stay local for school, just 45 minutes north of the awful yellow house, while Danielle had ventured out of state to study at the University of Wisconsin. Despite the distance, we always stayed in touch.

We decided to meet at our favorite café in town, the same spot where we’d often escaped after school to decompress. Back then, we’d sit for hours, sipping lattes and gossiping about everything — teachers, homework, and, of course, the latest drama with the cute boys. It had been our refuge, a space where I could forget about the tension at home.

Danielle understood more than most what it was like to grow up with a toxic parent. She went no-contact with her mother shortly after leaving for college, and like me, she had only begun to see the full extent of the damage once she experienced healthier relationships. Now, I was eager to share my own growth with her — the revelations from my therapist, the independence I’d found, and everything I’d learned since stepping away from the chaos of home.

Excitement bubbled inside me as I trudged through the snow, my boots crunching against the icy sidewalk. The café’s warm glow spilled onto the street, inviting me in. Through the frosted window, I spotted Danielle, already seated at a table by the fireplace, her face lighting up as she caught sight of me. She waved enthusiastically, and I hurried inside, brushing the cold from my coat.

My mind raced with everything I wanted to share. There was the boyfriend I was serious about — we’d even started talking about marriage. Graduation was just around the corner, and I was on track to earn honors with two degrees. Lately, I’d even been toying with the idea of pursuing a master’s degree. I couldn’t wait to hear how Danielle was doing, too. She was also preparing to graduate, and from what I’d heard, her boyfriend was a sweet guy who treated her well.

It felt like we had so much to catch up on, and I knew the hours would slip away like they always did when we were together. After a warm hug and the usual exchange of pleasantries, we ordered our food and settled into a comfortable silence. The crackling fireplace and the hum of chatter around us created a cozy backdrop.

I could tell we were both eager to share our updates, but there was no rush. Neither of us wanted to interrupt or talk over the other — we knew the conversation would flow naturally, just like it always did.

Finally, I broke the ice.

“How’s Mike? Did he come home with you for winter break? Jake’s in Madison with his family, but I think he’s going to pop the question soon,” I said, smiling shyly.

“Mike’s great,” Danielle smiled back. “He’s in Arlington Heights with his parents, but he’ll be visiting during the second week of break.”

For a while, we got lost in conversations about wedding plans, scrolling through Pinterest for color schemes and bridesmaids’ dresses. We gossiped about mutual friends who were engaged, laughing like no time had passed since we’d last seen each other.

After a pause to enjoy our soup, my thoughts drifted to everything I wanted to share with Danielle. I was eager to tell her how much progress I’d made in therapy and how far I’d come since high school.

“You’re not going to believe what I remembered recently,” I began, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself.

Danielle set her spoon down, curiosity flickering across her face.

“Do you remember my parents’ yellow house with the red shutters? The one I lived in during those awful years in high school?” I asked.

Her expression shifted to one of confusion. “Wait… what yellow house? You never lived in a house like that. Your family’s always been in that little ranch house by the park. I’ve picked you up from there a million times.”

My mind went blank. Then, in a rush, it filled with memories of the yellow house. I saw it clearly — the chipped red shutters, the creaky hardwood floors, the heavy weight that always seemed to hang in the air. I remembered shutting myself in my room whenever my mom started nitpicking, sparking arguments out of thin air. My room had once been my sanctuary, until even that space wasn’t safe. Sleeping too long? Yelled at. Staying up too late? Yelled at.

The memories were vivid, undeniable. But Danielle’s face, her certainty — it shook me.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

She nodded. “Positive.”

And just like that, the foundations of everything I thought I knew began to crack.

“But I remember the yellow house vividly,” I said, my voice trembling as I pointed to the faint scar on my hand. “I tripped over a crack in the driveway when we moved in and cut my hand on the asphalt.”

I searched Danielle’s face, waiting for some flicker of recognition — anything to confirm what I knew to be true.

Instead, her brows knit together in concern. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

I hesitated, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily in my chest. I didn’t want to make a scene, not here, not now.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” I murmured, though the words felt hollow.

We finished the rest of our dinner, shifting the conversation to safer topics — finals, our upcoming classes, and the latest gossip about our old teachers, some of whom had recently remarried or divorced. The words flowed, but the easy warmth from earlier had cooled. My mind kept drifting back to what Danielle had said, the unsettling gap in our memories hanging over us like a cloud.

When the bill was paid, we headed out into the chilly air. By coincidence, we’d parked next to each other, so we lingered a little longer, making small talk as our breath puffed in the cold. Danielle pulled me in for a hug, and as she settled into her driver’s seat, I caught one last glance of the concern lingering in her eyes. She managed a small smile, waved, and then drove away.

I slipped into my own car, the heater groaning as it fought against the winter cold. But I barely noticed. My thoughts raced, replaying the conversation over and over. And then, as I sat there watching the frost retreat from the windshield, it hit me.

I had been home for break. I had slept in my old bed. I had walked through the narrow halls and eaten breakfast at the kitchen table. The yellow house was real — I had just been there. How could Danielle not remember it?

And maybe even more unsettling, why hadn’t I said anything? Why hadn’t I pointed out the obvious?

We hadn’t moved. Of that, I was certain.

I drove home, replaying our conversation with Danielle over and over in my mind. Though the drive was short, I wasn’t ready to go inside just yet. Instead, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through old photos from high school.

There were pictures of me before prom, posing in my dress on the front lawn. Photos of me in my track uniform, proudly displaying my blistered feet on the front steps. Snapshots of my sister’s graduation reception on the back porch. The yellow house was there in every memory — the red shutters, the cracked driveway, the chipped paint along the window frames. I didn’t imagine it.

When I finally walked inside, I must have still had a look of concern on my face. My parents were seated at the dining room table, chatting with some friends from church, including our pastor. Their laughter died down as I entered. My mom’s eyes flicked toward me.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her tone casual, but I caught the underlying tension.

“I was at lunch with Danielle,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Without waiting for a response, I shuffled toward my room, the weight of the afternoon pressing down on me.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard the murmur of resumed conversation, though I could still feel the lingering curiosity and concern in the air. My parents had exchanged one of their knowing glances — the kind that always made me feel like I was on the outside of some unspoken secret.

I collapsed onto my bed, slipping on my headphones in an attempt to block everything out. But before I could settle in, there was a soft knock on my door. I hesitated, then cracked it open. To my relief, it wasn’t my mom or dad.

“Hi, Christy,” I said, smiling faintly as I met the familiar face of one of our family friends.

She returned the smile, her eyes warm yet cautious. “Hey, mind if I come in?”

I stepped aside, letting her into my room, though a part of me wondered why she had come instead of my parents.

She sat down at my study desk while I flopped down on the edge of my bed. She looked as if she was thinking of where to start.

"How's college been treating you?" Christy asked, her voice warm.

"It's been good! I made the dean's list again this summer," I said, unable to hide my pride.

Christy beamed, her smile reaching her eyes. "I'm so proud of you, kiddo!" she exclaimed, holding up her hand for a high-five. I gladly returned it, the familiar sense of support offering a brief comfort.

But just as quickly, her expression shifted. The smile faded, and a faint flush crept up her cheeks. She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting slightly.

"Jasper and I, and... well, your parents — we’re just a little concerned about where you’ve been," she said, her words careful and deliberate.

I stared at her, confused.

“I was at lunch at the café on Main Street. I’ve got the receipt to prove it,” I said, my voice tinged with defensiveness. I wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation.

“I believe you!” Christy said quickly, holding up her hands as if to calm me.

“Danielle was there, too. She can vouch for me,” I added, my tone softening as I tried to reassure her.

But Christy’s face crumpled. She put her hands over her eyes, her shoulders shaking as she cried softly. “I was hoping this would be over,” she whispered, the words so quiet I wasn’t sure if she’d meant for me to hear them.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my mind spinning with confusion and exhaustion.

Christy paused, her gaze distant as she took a deep breath before sitting next to me.

“I heard that you were seeing a counselor at school, and I thought everything was going well. Isn’t she helping you with your schizophrenia and PTSD?” Christy asked gently, her voice filled with concern.

I didn’t respond immediately, still trying to process her words.

“Danielle isn’t real,” Christy whispered, her voice trembling. “She’s been a hallucination since high school, a way for you to cope with everything—your rough home life, the abuse... She’s been there to help you survive. I've always been so worried about what you've been through. I just never knew how to help, and I didn't want to invade your privacy. It breaks my heart to see how much this has affected you.”

Tears welled up in Christy’s eyes as she spoke, and I felt the ground beneath me shift.

A pit formed in my stomach as the realization hit me. None of the pictures I had ever included Danielle or her boyfriend. I vividly remembered her from high school, but as I flipped through my yearbook, I couldn’t find a single picture of her. There weren’t any on my phone either. I scrolled through my text messages to Danielle and felt a wave of confusion. The threads seemed to be intended for a friend, but they were just drafts—messages that had never been sent, with only a partial phone number in the recipient’s box.

I replayed our conversation at lunch. Had I really been looking at Pinterest alone, instead of chatting with her? Could everything I thought I had shared with Danielle simply have been in my mind?

Christy stood up, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and quietly closed the door behind her. The weight of the day’s revelations left me feeling completely drained. I lay down on my bed, hoping for some respite, and soon drifted off to sleep. As I succumbed to the quiet of the night, vivid dreams filled my mind—of Danielle, her boyfriend, and the comfort of a friendship that had once brought me peace while I was trapped in a life of turmoil.