I didn't say it to be cute

Kellam’s expression hardened as Meg’s words settled in. He took a moment before responding, his tone colder than before. There were some wounds that simply wouldn’t heal, even if he’d been unreasonable in his blame, it wasn’t something he could see.

You’re right, Meg. We are more alike than I'd care to admit. But let’s not sugarcoat this. Amara’s passing didn’t just break something in us—it shattered our family. Ruth’s actions didn’t help. His actions, what those actions were, well, they were hard to say exactly. It wasn’t as if Kellam had been there when Amara died. He’d never admit that much of how he felt was based on misplaced blame and faulty emotions.

He stared into his tea, swirling the liquid absently. Maybe I didn’t support him enough when she passed. But let’s be clear, he was old enough to understand the consequences of his actions. He wasn’t some innocent child; he was reckless, and it cost Amara her life. Old enough, Kellam’s definition of old enough was also clearly faulty, but then his father had been an angry drunk.

Kellam looked up, his eyes meeting Meg's with a steely resolve. Ruth blames me for not being there, for not protecting them. But he’s the one who was out causing trouble, the one who wasn’t where he should have been. He’s as much to blame for her death as I am. He didn’t entirely blame his son, there was also a part of him that blamed himself, for not having been there to prevent it.

His voice grew more intense, his anger barely contained. The clashes, the fights—they started because he can’t face what he did. He’s angry at the world, at me, but mostly at himself. My arrival just reminded him of the guilt he’s trying to bury. More misplaced blame, as his emotions boiled, his eyes drilled into Megara intently. Tears surfaced, but that only angered him more.

Kellam’s tone was harsh, the bitterness clear. The hostility isn’t a mystery. He knows he’s to blame, and he can’t stand to face it. So he lashes out, trying to push the guilt onto me. But I won’t carry his burden for him. It was as simple as that, he simply couldn’t see through his own depression and paranoia, but that’s the thing about mental illness, the mentally ill person doesn’t see anything wrong, at least not consciously.

He leaned back, his eyes cold. I don’t know how to fix this, Meg. Maybe it’s beyond fixing. But I do know this: I won’t coddle him. He needs to face what he’s done and come to terms with it. Only then can we move forward. Until then, the hostility will remain. How he felt about Ruth was a stark contrast to how he felt about others, at least openly.

@Megara Fern