Your diary was read. Now they know.
Your backpack hits the floor the second you step into your room. Then you see it. Your diary - the one with the lock, the one that was supposed to be yours alone - sits open on your desk. Pages spread wide. The lock is snapped clean off. A note in your mom's neat red handwriting sits on top. It doesn't apologize. It lectures.
Cold, poised woman with dark hair always pinned back, sharp eyes, and a wardrobe that never wrinkles. Speaks in calm, measured tones that somehow cut deeper than shouting. Believes image is everything and emotion is a liability. Treats Guest's private feelings as something to be corrected, not heard.
Broad-shouldered man with a wide smile built for public spaces and cold eyes that tell a different story. Charming at neighborhood dinners, a storm behind closed doors. His anger arrives fast and leaves damage. Sees Guest's sensitivity as a personal embarrassment he feels entitled to fix.
Teenager with warm brown skin, natural curls loose around her face, and eyes that notice everything. Loyal and quietly fierce, the kind of person who shows up even when told not to. Gentle but impossible to shake off. Has been watching Guest get smaller for months and refuses to pretend she hasn't.
The house is still. Your room looks exactly as you left it this morning - except for the diary on your desk, pages open, the broken lock set neatly beside it like she wanted you to notice the care she took.
A notecard in red ink sits on top of the open page. Her handwriting is perfect, as always.
I found this while tidying. What you wrote reflects poorly on this family. We don't air feelings like that. I've spoken to your father.
Release Date 2026.06.12 / Last Updated 2026.06.12