Unseen

Trigger Warning: This story explores themes of difficult family dynamics, emotional abuse, and murder. It delves into the lasting impact of toxic relationships, trauma, and the struggle for independence and healing.

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.

Disoriented, I rubbed my eyes and took in the dim surroundings. Something felt off. I tried to piece together the events of the previous day, but the details slipped through my grasp like sand through my fingers.

It had been about six months since I went no-contact with my toxic family. The fallout had been messy—my parents tried to involve the police, smeared my name to mutual friends, and painted themselves as the victims. But in the end, I was free. Free from walking on eggshells. Free from a life that felt more like a prison sentence.

Six months earlier:

Living under my parents’ roof had meant constant scrutiny. They were angry if I slept in. They were angry if I was awake. Angry if I was on my phone, if I studied, if I tried to talk to them, if I kept to myself. My mere existence seemed to offend them. But, of course, they weren’t the problem—I was. I was the selfish one, the ungrateful one. Any time I voiced my feelings, I was reminded that others had it worse, that I should shut up and stop complaining.

So I learned to keep my cards close to my chest. Silence was survival. Anything I said could and would be used against me. Achievements were brushed off as unimpressive; mistakes were ammunition, thrown back at me for months. The only escape I had was school and work—my only hope, saving enough money to leave for good.

After months of careful, quiet planning, I made my escape.

My dad was in the basement, as always, buried in his computer, avoiding his family like we were a nuisance. My mom was at work, stuck in the nursing job she constantly complained about but never made an effort to leave. This was my chance.

I packed as quickly and silently as possible, heart pounding with every rustle of fabric, every creak of the floorboards. Then, I slipped outside and into the back seat of Marcus’s old Acura. He didn’t say a word—just put the car in drive. Brandi, my best friend from high school, turned around in the passenger seat and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

I took a deep breath, willing my hands to stop shaking, and nodded. “I feel sick thinking about the fallout. I don’t know what they’re going to do to make my life hell this time.”

Brandi’s expression darkened. “Well, you left them that letter explaining everything—that you’re leaving and don’t want to be contacted. You kept a copy for yourself, right?”

I nodded again.

“Good.” Her voice was firm but reassuring. “They’re going to be angry, but that’s not your responsibility. And they won’t know where you are.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to absorb the weight of her words. My parents had controlled every aspect of my life for so long, but now, for the first time, they had no power over me.

I leaned back against the seat as Marcus kept driving. The farther we got from my house, the lighter my chest felt. As I watched the familiar streets shrink in the rearview mirror, I focused on what lay ahead: miles of open road, the quiet of the countryside, and the distance I had so desperately needed.

When we arrived at Marcus and Brandi’s house, we unloaded what little I had and headed inside. Marcus flopped onto the couch while Brandi made her way to the refrigerator. I hovered awkwardly in the kitchen, unsure of what to do with myself.

“We’ll show you to your room after dinner. Want a beer?” Brandi asked.

I offered a nervous smile and nodded. The habit of walking on eggshells was going to be hard to break, but Brandi didn’t push. She just let me be, and I was grateful for that.

Marcus flipped on the TV. The news droned in the background—updates on the economy, the elections, the upcoming Super Bowl. Normally, I would’ve cared. But right now, my mind was too tangled to focus.

Then, a single sentence made my blood run cold.

“In local news, an 18-year-old female was reported missing from her Riverdale home earlier today,” the reporter announced. “Her parents believe she was coerced from her home and are pleading for her safe return. If you have any information, please contact the local police at the number on your screen.”

I didn’t need to look. I already knew what I’d see.

But when my photo flashed across the screen, all three of us stared in horror. Silence stretched between us, thick with disbelief.

Marcus was the first to react, slamming his fist into the recliner. “This is bullshit. Your parents are assholes.”

“I’m not letting you go back,” Brandi said fiercely. “I’m calling the number. We’re sorting this out now.”

I clenched my fists, shaking with rage. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, my parents wouldn’t see my leaving as a reflection of them. It was never about their behavior—it was always about me being “influenced” by the wrong people. The moment I held them accountable, I became the problem.

Brandi dialed the number, and I could barely breathe as she explained the situation to the dispatcher. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios. What if they force me to go back? What if this only makes things worse?

Then Brandi lowered the phone and whispered, “They want to talk to you. They just need to confirm you’re safe and that you weren’t forced to leave.”

I hesitated, my hands trembling as I reached for the phone. I was shaking so badly that I dropped it. Get it together. Taking a deep breath, I picked it up and pressed it to my ear.

“Hello?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

The dispatcher’s voice was gentle. “Hi, honey. How are you?” she asked. “I just need to verify who I’m speaking with and ask you a few questions. Is that alright?”

I swallowed hard and nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I managed.

“Can you confirm your name and date of birth?”

“I’m Hannah Tanner. January 12, 2007.”

She thanked me, then repeated what Brandi had told her—that I’d left willingly due to an unhealthy family situation, that I was staying with friends, and that I had left a letter explaining everything.

I confirmed it all.

There was a pause, then the dispatcher said, “Alright, Hannah. Thank you. We’ll handle this.”

And just like that, the call ended.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the phone in my lap. The fight wasn’t over, but at least—for now—I wasn’t going back.

I kept repeating my therapist’s words in my head: I am not responsible for my family’s emotions. I have to focus on what’s best for me.

Dinner didn’t sound appealing, so Brandi showed me to my room. As soon as I stepped inside, I exhaled, the day's weight pressing down on me. The twin bed had a crocheted green comforter and a fluffy bamboo pillow. A nightstand with a lamp stood beside it, along with a small bookshelf and a desk with a writing lamp. Simple. Cozy. Safe.

I unpacked my books and clothes, though I didn’t have the mental energy to read. Instead, I sat on the bed, letting myself exist in the quiet.

And that’s when it hit me.

I couldn’t remember the last time I was allowed to just be—to sit in silence without feeling like a burden. The realization was as freeing as it was heartbreaking.

The emotions I’d been holding back surged forward all at once. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed—deep, gut-wrenching sobs that left me breathless. I cried until my body gave in to exhaustion.

At some point, sleep took me.

And for the first time in years, I slept deeply. When I woke up, my mind felt clear. My body felt rested. I felt something I hadn’t in a long time.

I felt happy.

Getting out of bed, I headed to the bathroom. As I washed my hands, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes had lightened. I looked... better. Healthier.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember—I was hungry. I changed my clothes, ready to head downstairs for breakfast. But then I made the mistake of checking my phone. And just like that, the peace I’d found shattered.

My phone was flooded with text messages and social media notifications—mostly from my sister and a handful of mutual friends from church.

My sister’s message was long, filled with accusations about how I had abandoned our parents and how furious they were. Others, mostly older church members, sent condescending reminders about God’s will and how separating myself from my family was wrong. Some even preached about forgiveness and turning the other cheek.

My stomach twisted, and my appetite vanished.

Without hesitation, I blocked my sister’s number and deactivated my social media accounts. I didn’t need the noise. Not now.

Feeling drained, I made my way downstairs. Marcus had already left for the day, but Brandi was waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen counter with her phone in hand.

She didn’t push me to talk. She just poured me a glass of orange juice and sat beside me, scrolling through her phone, giving me space to process.

I sighed. “So, this morning’s been... something.”

Brandi looked up, her expression patient, and I spilled everything—the texts, the guilt-tripping, the church people. She listened without interruption, nodding in understanding.

“You did the right thing going offline,” she said firmly. “You don’t owe them access to you.”

I felt a little lighter knowing she was in my corner. My therapist would probably say the same thing at my next session, and I was eager for that validation, too.

Brandi gave me a small smile. “So... you up for some retail therapy? I need to grab a few things from Target.”

I hesitated, but then nodded, a flicker of relief breaking through the tension.

“As long as we’re not going to the one in Riverdale,” I joked.

We laughed, grabbed our things, and headed to the car.

The whole drive, we sang along to the radio, talked about life, and laughed like nothing else mattered. And for the first time, I wondered—Is this what life is actually supposed to feel like?

I was slowly getting used to the feeling of not walking on eggshells. Of not being treated like a burden.

During quiet moments, my thoughts drifted to the future.

Brandi had assured me that I could stay with her for as long as I needed to get back on my feet. She also suggested I warn my employer about my family, just in case they showed up to cause trouble. I made a mental note to send my boss an email when we got home.

Beyond that, I started thinking about what I wanted—not just surviving day to day, but truly building a life for myself.

I’d always dreamed of becoming a lawyer, but my family constantly dismissed the idea, talking down to me as if I weren’t capable. But they didn’t get to decide my path. My life was mine to own.

If law was what I truly wanted, I would make it happen.

I made another mental note—this time to research colleges for my bachelor’s degree. Then, when the time came, I’d take the LSAT and find the right law school to apply to.

It felt strange to have hope.

But now that I was putting distance between myself and the people who had spent years tearing me down, I had a feeling—deep in my spirit—that my confidence would only grow from here.

Present day:

           Six months after going no-contact with my family, attending counseling, and leaning on my support system—including Brandi, Marcus, and a few close friends who truly understood my situation—I was finally ready to take the next step. I had been accepted to Commonwealth University of Hawthorne, where I planned to study political science and philosophy. Moving into campus housing felt like a milestone, a declaration of independence. For the first time, I was building a life on my own terms, free from the voices that once told me I would never make it, that I didn’t belong.

After unpacking, I decided to visit the campus bookstore before it closed, picking up my textbooks and grabbing dinner from the student union. But as I returned to my dorm, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Standing outside my doorway, as if they had every right to be there, were my parents.

My breath caught. My mind raced. How did they find me? I had kept my social media deactivated, never posted about coming to college, never shared my plans with anyone who might tell them. The sight of them here, invading this new chapter of my life, filled me with a mix of anger and dread.

For a split second, I considered turning around and walking away. But no. This was my home now. I refused to let them drive me away.

I squared my shoulders and marched forward. “How did you find me?” I demanded, my voice sharp with fury.

My mother had the audacity to act like nothing had happened. She even leaned in to kiss my cheek, but I jerked my head back and took a step away.

“What’s the matter?” she snapped, her voice laced with manufactured hurt. Then, her expression twisted into something uglier. “How could you treat us like this, after everything you’ve put us through?”

Her words rang through the hallway, drawing the attention of nearby students. My blood boiled. After everything I had put them through?

I clenched my fists, steadying myself. I had worked too hard to escape them. I wasn’t about to let them pull me back in.

“You need to leave, or I’m calling campus police. I’ve made it clear that I want nothing to do with your toxicity,” I said firmly, my voice steady and loud enough for those nearby to hear.

With my keys in hand, I moved to push past my parents, aiming to reach the resident advisor’s door for help. But before I could get far, I felt a hard shove from behind. My balance gave way, and the last thing I registered was the sharp impact as my head hit the floor. Then—nothing.

What happened next was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if I were floating, detached from my body, watching events unfold from a distance. I found myself in an unfamiliar room, staring down at my own motionless form in a hospital bed. A doctor pulled a sheet over me while the heart monitor let out a long, steady beep—a flatline.

Beyond the glass doors of the waiting room, I saw my parents. Police officers gripped their arms, leading them away as their expressions twisted in something between shock and denial.

A strange sense of peace washed over me, knowing I was finally in a place where they couldn’t hurt me anymore. Justice would come, even if I wouldn’t be here to witness it in this lifetime.