Chapter 1 Fractured Illusions

# Chapter 1: Fractured Illusions

There's something magical about autumn in Los Angeles—the way the light turns golden in the late afternoon, painting everything with a dreamlike quality. That's how I felt about my life then: dreamlike, unreal in its perfection. I was twenty-one, a junior at UCLA studying psychology, and hopelessly in love with Jason Miller.

"Earth to Maya," Jason waved his hand before my face, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "You disappeared on me again."

We sat across from each other at Rosie's Diner, our favorite little hideaway on Sunset Boulevard. The vinyl booth squeaked whenever I shifted, and the jukebox in the corner played something soft and nostalgic.

"Sorry," I smiled, twirling my straw in my chocolate milkshake. "Just thinking about that developmental psychology paper."

Jason reached across the table, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Always the dedicated student. That's what I love about you."

Love. The word still made my heart skip. We'd been dating for six months, but sometimes I still couldn't believe someone like Jason—thoughtful, brilliant, devastatingly handsome Jason—had chosen me.

"You know what I love about you?" I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "The way you always know exactly what I need. Like bringing me here when I'm stressed about finals."

He lifted my hand to his lips. "Speaking of which, I should probably get you home soon. Your mom texted earlier asking when we'd be back."

That was another thing I loved—how well Jason got along with my mother, Linda. Since my father's death three years ago, it had been just Mom and me in our little craftsman house in Silver Lake. When I first brought Jason home, I'd been nervous, but they'd clicked immediately. Sometimes I'd find them deep in conversation about psychology—Mom's profession and Jason's major—while I was still hanging up my coat.

The drive home was peaceful, Jason's hand resting on my knee as he navigated the winding streets. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city lights blur by, feeling utterly content.

"You're quiet tonight," he observed, glancing over at me.

"Happy quiet," I assured him. "Just... savoring."

He smiled that smile that always made my stomach flip. "I have a surprise for you this weekend. Something special."

"Tell me!" I straightened up, excitement bubbling through me.

"Patience, Maya Bennett." He laughed. "Good things come to those who wait."

We pulled into my driveway, the porch light already on. Mom always left it burning for me, a habit from my teenage years she never broke.

"Come in for a while?" I asked, though I knew he would. He always did.

"Let me grab my textbook from the trunk. We can review for Tuesday's exam."

I nodded, fishing my keys from my bag. The house was quiet when I entered, which wasn't unusual. Mom often worked late at her private practice.

"Mom?" I called out, dropping my bag by the door. "We're back!"

No answer. I shrugged, heading toward the kitchen for some water. The light was on, spilling into the hallway.

"Mom, do you want some—"

I froze in the doorway. My brain couldn't process what my eyes were seeing. Jason—my Jason—had my mother pressed against the refrigerator, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. His hands were tangled in her hair, her arms wrapped around his waist. They were so engrossed they didn't even hear me.

The world tilted sideways. My stomach lurched, and I must have made some sound because they suddenly broke apart, turning toward me. Their expressions changed so quickly it was almost comical—shock, guilt, and then, most disturbingly, something like calculation.

"Maya," Mom said, her voice unnaturally calm. She smoothed her blouse. "You're home early."

Early? We'd texted her our ETA. Jason stood beside her, his face unreadable.

"What..." My voice cracked. "What is this?"

"Sweetheart," Jason stepped toward me, but I backed away. "It's not what you think."

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, hysterical and sharp. "Really? Because it looks exactly like my boyfriend was just kissing my mother."

Mom exchanged a look with Jason, some silent communication passing between them. It made me feel sick.

"Maya, please sit down," Mom gestured to the kitchen table. "We can explain."

"Explain?" I was shouting now, tears burning my eyes. "Explain what? How long has this been going on? Has everything between us been a lie?" I turned to Jason, fury and heartbreak warring within me.

"No one's lying to you," Jason said, his voice steady in a way that infuriated me. Where was the guilt? The shame? "You're jumping to conclusions."

"Am I? Then what was that?" I pointed wildly at the refrigerator. "A CPR demonstration?"

Mom sighed, crossing her arms. "You're getting worked up, which is understandable. But you're misinterpreting what you saw."

I stared at her, incredulous. "Are you gaslighting me right now? Both of you?"

"No one's gaslighting anyone," Jason said, sharing another look with my mother. "Linda and I were just—"

"Linda?" I interrupted. "Since when do you call her Linda?"

A flash of something—annoyance?—crossed his face before smoothing out. "Maya, please. You're creating a narrative in your head that isn't real."

The clinical detachment in his voice chilled me. This wasn't the Jason I knew—the one who held me when I cried during sad movies, who remembered how I liked my coffee, who whispered "you're amazing" in my ear when he thought I was sleeping.

"I saw you kissing her," I said, my voice breaking. "That's not a narrative. That's what happened."

Mom stepped forward, her therapist face firmly in place. "Maya, honey, I think you should go to your room and collect yourself. We can discuss this when you're calmer."

"Calmer?" I laughed again, the sound bordering on manic. "You want me to be calm about this? What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with us," Jason said coolly. "But I'm concerned about you right now."

The way they stood there, united against me, made me feel like I was losing my mind. Had I really seen what I thought I saw? But no—I couldn't doubt myself. Not with the image of their kiss burned into my retinas.

"I'm leaving," I declared, turning back toward the front door.

"Maya, don't be dramatic," Mom called after me. "Where will you go at this hour?"

I ignored her, grabbing my bag from where I'd dropped it. Jason appeared in front of me, blocking my path.

"Move," I hissed.

"Not until you listen," he said, his eyes searching mine. For a moment, I saw a flicker of the Jason I thought I knew. "Please, Maya. Trust me."

Trust him? After what I'd just witnessed?

"I don't even know who you are anymore," I whispered. "Either of you."

I pushed past him and flung open the door, half-running to my car. As I fumbled with my keys, I glanced back at the house. They stood in the doorway watching me—not chasing after me, not calling my name. Just... observing. Like scientists monitoring a subject's reaction.

As I drove away, tears blurring my vision, one thought kept circling in my mind: What if everything I believed about my life, my relationship, my own mother... what if it had all been one elaborate lie?