Novel Full Chapter 1086 Gamer
Chapter 1086: Chapter 1086 Gamer
"Mom... can I see you later tonight?" Lea whispered, her voice barely audible.
She stood just inside the doorway of her parents’ room in the bunker, clutching the edge of her sleeve with trembling fingers. "I... I have something I need to talk to you about."
Marissa looked up instantly, her expression shifting from mild surprise to full concern in a heartbeat.
She set aside the clothes she had been folding and gave Lea her complete attention.
"Of course, Lea. You can come here anytime." She stepped closer, eyes trying to read her daughter’s face. "Do you want to tell me what it’s about?"
Lea hesitated, her lips parting and closing again before she managed to speak.
"Can you come to my room instead, Mom?" she asked softly. "Please? It’s... it’s really important to me."
That alone made Marissa’s chest tighten. Lea rarely asked for privacy—almost never with that tone.
"Of course," Marissa said immediately, worry intensifying.
She reached out but stopped herself just short of touching Lea’s arm. "Just tell me the time and I’ll be early. We can even go now if you want. Are you okay?"
Lea shook her head quickly, though the forced smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes.
"No, it’s fine, Mom. Really. Later will be good."
She turned to leave, but paused at the doorway.
Her shoulders looked smaller than usual, weighed down by something she wasn’t ready to share.
"Love you," Lea said softly before slipping out into the hallway.
Marissa stared after her, heart thudding with a rising sense of dread.
Lea’s voice... her expression... something was terribly wrong.
And Marissa could only hope she was prepared for whatever her daughter would reveal tonight.
Night finally descended over Aegis, the artificial lights dimming to their evening glow.
Marissa made her way to her daughter’s room, her footsteps soft against the reinforced floor.
The bunker wasn’t vast—most family quarters were intentionally placed close to one another.
Proximity created comfort, connection, and a sense of safety in a place built to survive catastrophe.
But tonight, that closeness felt heavy.
She stopped in front of Lea’s door and took a moment to steady herself.
Lea had sounded strained earlier. Nervous.
Her daughter rarely asked for private talks—almost never with that trembling tone.
Marissa knocked gently.
"It’s open, Mom," Lea called from inside.
The voice wasn’t angry. Wasn’t sad. It was... empty. And somehow, that scared Marissa more.
She opened the door and stepped in, closing and locking it behind her.
Her eyes scanned the room immediately.
All the living quarters in Aegis were identical in structure—same walls, same layout, same furniture.
But Lea’s room looked different.
Warmer. Softer. More lived-in.
She had hung tiny string lights around the shelves, placed small plants on her desk, arranged her books with care, and placed a few sentimental belongings—drawings, gifts, photos—where they caught gentle light.
It was a quiet reflection of her personality: simple, warm, expressive.
Marissa smiled faintly. "Your room looks beautiful," she murmured, almost as if trying to ease whatever tension lingered in the air.
Lea didn’t smile back.
She stood in the center of the room, her posture rigid, her hands clenched together.
She looked like someone bracing for impact.
Marissa immediately felt her chest tighten.
"Lea... sweetheart?" she asked gently, stepping closer. "What’s wrong?"
Lea swallowed hard. Her throat bobbed visibly.
"Mom... I don’t know how to say this." Her voice wavered, the words squeezing out as though they physically hurt.
"I... I never expected I would ever have to say something like this to you."
Marissa’s heart thudded painfully.
She reached out, but Lea subtly stepped back—not out of fear, but out of hurt.
"You can tell me anything, honey," Marissa said softly, though worry trembled beneath her tone. "I’m here. Whatever it is... I want to understand."
Lea squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, drawing in a deep breath that seemed to steady her only slightly.
When she opened them again, they were glassy and conflicted.
"Mom," she said in a whisper, "I saw you and Ross together."
The words echoed in the room like a sudden blast of cold air.
She continued, voice cracking under the weight:
"In the library."
Marissa froze—breath stilling, heart dropping, mind momentarily blank.
Lea wasn’t done.
Her voice trembled, strained by shock, betrayal, confusion—all tangled together.
"I didn’t mean to see it. I wasn’t trying to spy on anyone. I just went in looking for a book and... and you were there. With him. Doing—"
Her voice broke completely.
She looked away, shaking her head, as if replaying the memory made her stomach twist.
"I didn’t know what to do," she whispered. "I didn’t know whether to scream, or run away, or pretend I didn’t see anything. I’ve been sick thinking about it. I still don’t understand why it happened."
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was suffocating. Thick. Heavy.
Marissa felt her knees weaken under the weight of the truth now standing between them—truth her daughter was never meant to see, never meant to carry.
And now, she would have to answer.
"I’m... I’m sorry you had to see that," Marissa said, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling as she walked toward a nearby chair.
She sank into it slowly, her shoulders slumping, the weight of shame pressing down on her as if the room itself had grown smaller.
She closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the storm inside her.
Secrets like this were impossible to keep, she realized.
No matter how carefully you hid them, some truths had a way of clawing their way to the surface, leaving devastation in their wake.
And now, Lea had seen it all.
Marissa’s face burned with a hot, humiliating shame, her cheeks flushed crimson.
A mother was supposed to be a guide, a protector, someone her children could trust without question.
She was supposed to be the safe harbor they could look up to, the example of integrity and love.
And yet here she was—exposed, unguarded, utterly human in her weakness.
She had let her desires overtake her, and in doing so, she had allowed her daughter to witness a side of her that was selfish, scandalous, and deeply unworthy of admiration.
Lea had seen her at her most vulnerable, her most unrestrained, her most reckless.
She had seen her betray her husband, surrender to another man, and give herself entirely to pleasure without restraint or consideration for the consequences.
She had screamed, moaned, given herself freely to another, and in doing so, shattered the image of the mother and wife she had worked so hard to uphold.
The very thought twisted Marissa’s stomach and made her hands shake.
"I... I’m really sorry, Lea," she whispered again, voice thick with emotion. "I don’t have an excuse that makes sense. I just... I was lonely. More lonely than I can even describe. And then... Ross came along. And in that moment... everything felt perfect. Everything felt right, even though I knew it was wrong. I... I didn’t think about the consequences. I didn’t think about your father. I didn’t think about you, or Chelsea, or Karen. I just... lost myself in that moment."
Her hands gripped the sides of the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion, and her eyes brimmed with tears she refused to shed in front of Lea.
She didn’t dare look at her daughter, afraid of the hurt, the judgment, the silent disappointment she knew must be burning in her gaze.
"If you feel like you need to tell your father... if you think you should... you can," Marissa said softly, almost as if the words were a prayer for understanding.
"I loved him. I love him. I always have. I love you, and Chelsea, and Karen. More than anything. But I... I couldn’t stop myself. I fell for Ross. Completely. Head over heels. And I wasn’t thinking of anything else—nothing but the feeling, nothing but the moment."
Her voice faltered, a quiet sob threatening to escape.
She bowed her head, ashamed to meet her daughter’s eyes, trembling as memories of the library replayed in her mind like a relentless storm.
Every gasp, every moan, every reckless surrender—Lea had seen it all.
And the guilt of exposing her daughter to such a moment, whether intentional or not, weighed heavier than any shame she had ever known.
"I wish I could take it back," Marissa admitted, voice barely audible, "I wish I could erase it from your memory, from my memory, from everything. But I can’t. All I can do... all I can hope for... is that one day, maybe... you can understand, even a little. Maybe you can forgive me for being... weak. For being human. For failing in the one thing that should have been most sacred to me—being the mother you could look up to without hesitation." Marissa said in length.