Serenity sat in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window as the world blurred past. Heart heavy. Mind scattered. Everything around her felt like it was spiraling out of control. Her reflection stared back at her, solemn and hollow. Her eyes betrayed her burden. Cheeks damp with emotion she hadn’t even tried to stop.
Bentley watched from his peripheral. He had never seen her like this. Truthfully, he didn’t quite know her well enough to recognize her extremes, but this… this was something he hadn’t wanted to witness so soon. The air inside the car was thick. Tension settled between them like a third passenger. Silence loud.
He didn’t ask if she was okay. It was obvious she wasn’t. He also didn’t want to say the wrong thing and push her further over the edge.
So he let the silence hold them.
Until it didn’t.
“Why were you outside the house, Bentley?” Serenity asked, her gaze never leaving the window.
Bentley glanced over at her, unsure how to explain without sounding unhinged.
“I was in the area. You hadn’t texted back, so I figured I’d swing by.” His tone stayed even. “I hope that wasn’t a problem.”
Serenity didn’t move.
“You hadn’t heard from me because I was in the middle of a family crisis.”
The words landed flat. No accusation. No softness. Just fact.
Bentley swallowed. He didn’t know how to respond.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t.”
That stung worse.
He shifted in his seat. The steering wheel felt tighter in his grip.
“I wasn’t trying to intrude,” he added. “I just… I don’t know. I guess… I just… I wanted to see you.”
Silence.
She blinked slowly. Heavy. Like even that required effort.
“Why?”
That was the real question.
Not why were you outside.
More so of why do you care? Why do you show up?
Why are you showing up freely when everything else feels forced… forged… fabricated?
Bentley sensed the weight behind it and chose not to take offense.
“I took a chance,” he admitted. “You’re worth it.”
She exhaled. Her head remained pressed against the glass, as if the window were the only solid thing she could trust in that moment.
“My entire life has been a lie.”
No tears. Just truth.
Bentley’s jaw tightened. Concern softened his features as he heard the burn in her voice. The kind of pain that sits in the throat and scrapes on the way out.
He turned into a nearby park. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. He parked facing the baseball field, cut the engine, and slid the sunroof cover back. The night sky stretched above them, stars indifferent witnesses.
“My parents…” she began, voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve lied to me.” She swallowed. “I don’t even know who they are. So who am I?”
Bentley leaned back in his seat, staring up at the same sky.
“Your parents lying doesn’t rewrite you,” he said carefully.
She let out a hollow laugh. “Doesn’t it?”
He turned toward her fully now.
“No. It rewrites them.”
She finally lifted her head from the window and turned toward him. Her eyes weren’t wet now.
They were resentful.
“You know what the worst part of all of this is?”
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush. Just waited.
“I remember the day they took him,” she sniffled. “My mom comforted me.”
Her voice cracked on the word mom.
“She held me. Told me everything would be okay.” Her jaw tightened. “All along it was her doing. Her fault. She single-handedly unraveled our family.”
Her breathing grew uneven.
“And she played seamstress. Stitching it together in front of me like she was the one holding us up.”
Bentley felt that one in his chest.
He moved slowly, reaching for her hand, but he hesitated halfway. This wasn’t about touch. Her mind was brittle. One wrong move and she might shatter or retreat.
“I don’t know how to look at her now,” Serenity continued. “Every memory feels contaminated.”
“She would sit on the edge of my bed when I couldn’t sleep,” Serenity whispered. “Tell me Daddy was strong. That we were going to be okay.”
Her fingers curled into fists in her lap.
“He was strong. Just not for the reason I thought.”
Silence pressed in again.
Bentley finally let his hand rest lightly over hers. Not gripping. Just there.
She didn’t pull away.
He exhaled slowly, relief still, but present.
“You’re allowed to be mad,” he said carefully.
“I’m beyond mad.” Her voice lowered. “I feel stupid.”
“You were a kid.”
“I’m not talking about then.” She looked at him. “I’m talking about now. I never questioned it. I defended her. I judged him.”
Bentley exhaled slowly.
“You were working with the information you had.”
She laughed softly. Humorless.
“So was he.”
Paige wished she could grab her dad’s hand and drag him into another room. Anywhere but here. Anywhere away from whatever this was unraveling between her parents.
“Patience,” Michal called, voice low but edged, “I’m still waiting.”
“Not… not long,” she answered, her voice cracking under the weight of it.
Paige felt it immediately.
Her mother was unraveling.
The strong, steady woman she’d grown up watching seemed to evaporate the moment her father walked into the room. Like confidence was something borrowed… something she could only wear when he wasn’t around.
Now it was gone.
And in its place stood someone smaller.
Paige shifted closer to her father, but even that didn’t feel safe. His chest rose and fell steadily, but she could feel tension humming beneath it.
“How long, Patience?” he repeated, slower now.
Each word deliberate.
Paige’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t about her anymore.
It was about history.
It was about secrets.
It was about something she didn’t fully understand but felt crawling up the walls anyway.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Patience whispered.
Michal’s jaw tightened.
“It matters when it concerns my daughter.”
Paige swallowed.
“I didn’t want to upset her,” Patience added quickly, almost defensively. “She just found out. I was trying to protect her.”
“By keeping me in the dark?” Michal countered.
Paige flinched at the tone.
“Daddy,” Paige whispered.
That was all Michal needed.
He heard the plea beneath it. The fear. The request to choose her over the fight.
He turned away from Patience.
The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted.
Patience knew he wasn’t finished. The conversation was paused, not buried.
Still, for the moment, she could breathe.
She had forgotten how easily he rattled her. How quickly he could peel back her composure with just a tone.
She retreated to the kitchen.
The tile felt colder than usual beneath her feet.
She reached for a glass. Missed it the first time.
Her hands were trembling.
She filled it with water, brought it to her lips, but her breathing was too rushed to swallow properly.
She couldn’t place the anxiety.
Was it that he was actually here? Or was it that she knew he was about to turn this into something it wasn’t?
She was flustered. Unnerved. Unsure how this was about to go.
In the living room, Michal held onto Paige like it might be the last time he was granted the privilege.
His mind teetered on the edge of restraint. He knew Paige needed him steady. Focused. Sane. But any threat to his daughter’s well-being pulled him somewhere darker.
“Daddy,” Paige said softly, breaking through his thoughts, “how long are you here for?”
There it was.
The weighted question.
His answer could bring peace or destruction.
“I’m here for however long you need me.”
Paige exhaled, looking up at her father as tears welled in her eyes.
“I’ll never not need you, Daddy,” she replied, heart uneasy.
Michal felt that one settle deep.
He could see the devastation she carried. The subtle breaking of her, breath by breath, movement by movement.
Her eyes once held a light that could make the darkest situation feel manageable.
Tonight, they held a depth of pain he never wanted her to know.
“I’m not going anywhere tonight, babygirl.”
That would suffice for now.
It was a start.
Paige glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
Her mother stood there in pieces, silently unraveling.
“Can you do me a favor, Daddy?”
“Anything for you, babygirl. Name it.”
She swallowed.
“Be nicer to Mom, please. She’s been battling this alone since Chance returned. Give her grace… please.”
That hit differently.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek before slipping from his arms and heading toward her bedroom.
Michal remained seated.
Stunned.
Wondering when his little girl became the mediator.Yes, he had reasons to be upset with Patience.But Paige wasn’t wrong.
Patience had been carrying this alone. And whether he agreed with how she handled it or not, that didn’t make it easy.
He watched her from across the room.
Pain lingered in her posture. Heartache in the way she moved. Fear sitting plainly in her eyes.
He sympathized.
He just couldn’t understand why she hadn’t called him.
“Ahem.”
He cleared his throat.
“Patience.”
Her heart rate spiked at the sound of her name on his tongue.
She inhaled slowly before turning around.
“Yes?”
“Come. Sit.”
Not harsh. Not gentle. Just firm.
Somehow she found her footing and made it to the living room. She sat across from him, careful. Guarded.
“What is it?”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
“Look, P… I’m sorry for earlier.”
The nickname hit her nervous system before the apology did.
“It’s fine, Michal.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “It’s not. It took our daughter reminding me that you’ve been carrying this alone. That’s on me.”
Patience quickly swiped away a tear before it could fully fall.
“I should’ve been around more. This is on me. I’m a man. I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Her lips trembled slightly.
“Thank… ahem… thank you.”
The silence between them felt different now. Less sharp. Still heavy.
Then his tone shifted.
“Now what are we doing about this boy?”
There it is. Protector energy.
Patience’s composure cracked.
“I don’t know, Michal,” she whispered, voice breaking. “He’s ruining my baby’s life. She doesn’t go anywhere. She barely sleeps. She’s scared to leave the house.”
Her sobs weren’t loud. Just exhausted.
“Leave him to me.”
Patience’s head snapped up.
Worry flooded her face.
“No, Michal,” she pleaded.
“P,” he said evenly, “I’m not asking.”
Her legs began to tremble beneath her. Her chest tightened.
“Michal…”
“Patience,” his voice lowered, not louder. “He’s a problem. I’ll solve it. End of discussion.”
He didn’t raise his voice.
That was the unsettling part.
Patience dropped her head, dread settling on her shoulders.
She knew that tone.
And she knew this wouldn’t end gently.
Unbeknownst to Chance, someone across town had already decided he was a problem that needed handling.
He sat on his bed, staring at the white wall so long it began to look yellow. That dull, dingy yellow that tells you something once bright is slowly fading.
Group sessions.
Supervised housing.
Early release.
Dr. Sylvie had laid it out cleanly.
Partial freedom.
Which also meant partial proximity to Paige.
His jaw flexed.
He didn’t care how close.
He just needed to get close enough.
“Breaud.”
Chance snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his name.
“Trays up,” the nurse called flatly.
Reluctantly, he stood and followed.
He was growing increasingly vexed with how often his name echoed through these halls.
It felt like ownership.
Like every syllable was a reminder that he didn’t belong to himself in here.
He grabbed his tray and sat.
The walls felt closer tonight. The ceiling lower. Even the air felt rationed. He stared at the food.
Overcooked. Bland. Lifeless.
Like everything else in this place.
Footsteps approached from behind.
He recognized the rhythm before the shadow reached his peripheral.
He exhaled slowly.
“Hey there, Breaud,” Dr. Sylvie said smoothly. “Mind if I join you?”
Chance didn’t look up.
“If I say no, you won’t walk away. So sit.”
“Feisty,” Sylvie replied with a faint smirk as he lowered himself into the chair across from him.
Chance pushed the tray slightly away.
“What is it? I can’t even pretend to enjoy this mess y’all call dinner.”
Sylvie folded his hands calmly.
“My office. After this so-called dinner.”
That was it.
No explanation.
No bait.
He stood and walked off.
Chance watched him leave.
And for the first time since the program was mentioned…
He felt the weight of choice.
Chance shoved the tray aside, appetite gone. He stood and made his way toward Dr. Sylvie’s office.
The closer he got, the stranger he felt.
His energy shifted.
Like the air was thicker.
Like something was waiting.
He slowed when he heard another voice drifting from inside the office.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Could it really be him… again?
He rounded the corner.
And there he was.
“Hi again, son,” Myles said.
Chance’s jaw tightened.
So that’s what this was.
Sylvie wasn’t just playing counselor.
He was playing strategist.
“Why is he here?” Chance demanded, eyes shifting between them.
“Sit down, Mr. Breaud,” Dr. Sylvie said firmly.
Not casually.
Commanding.
Chance didn’t move immediately.
The silence stretched.
“We’ve got some things to discuss,” Sylvie finished.
Chance looked at his father with open disgust.
He had just seen him two weeks ago. That visit hadn’t ended well.
Now here he was again.
Not during visitation.
Not behind glass.
In Dr. Sylvie’s office.
Myles wasn’t dressed in his usual armor of suit and tie.
No polished shoes.
No cufflinks.
Just sweats. A T-shirt. Tennis shoes.
Casual.
Almost… human.
Chance hated that more.
He sat on the sofa, deliberately leaving space between them.
“Nice to see you too, son,” Myles said, voice steady.
He genuinely didn’t understand where he’d lost him.
“Mr. Breaud,” Sylvie began, folding his hands, “I’ve filled your father in on the options I presented.”
“And?” Chance replied flatly.
Myles leaned forward slightly.
“And I think this could be good for you. It gives you structure. Freedom. Responsibility.”
Chance’s eyes narrowed.
“Okay. So that means I don’t have to do the program you wanted me in?”
Myles straightened.
“If you take this seriously, have no issues, and commit to Sunday dinners with me and your siblings… then yes. This will suffice.”
Chance blinked.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Sunday dinners?
Structure?
Was this freedom?
Was this real?
Am I high right now? he thought.
“How long will I be here before release?” he asked carefully.
Sylvie smiled.
“Your father has already secured supervised housing. Papers are ready.”
Chance’s pulse spiked.
“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “I’m leaving… now?”
“If you sign the contract and behavioral treatment plan outlining the terms, yes,” Sylvie replied. “Your father will transport you.”
Transport.
That word felt heavy.
Chance looked between them.
The room felt smaller.
He didn’t know whether to smile or stay stone-faced.
Part of him wanted to stand up and hug his father.
Another part remembered the argument two weeks ago.
The disappointment.
The accusations.
“Where do I sign?”
Chance scanned the paperwork again, slower this time.
Group sessions twice a week.
Curfew — 10 p.m.
Weekly check-ins with Dr. Sylvie.
He flipped the page.
Additional stipulations requested by guardian.
No infractions.
Sunday dinners with family.
He exhaled through his nose.
He could live with that.
Then his eyes dropped lower.
Just above the signature line, in bold red ink:
NO CONTACT WITH THE VICTIM AKA PAIGE AMORE LANGLEY.
The word victim lingered longer than the rest.
Victim.
His jaw tightened.
He gripped the pen tighter, careful not to let his hand shake.
He couldn’t hesitate.
Couldn’t blink too long.
Couldn’t look like the clause mattered.
That would give them something.
That would give them leverage.
He leaned back slightly.
Strategic.
If proximity was denied directly…
He’d just have to approach it indirectly.
He lifted his gaze to Sylvie.
“No problem.”
Smooth.
Controlled.
He signed.
The house had quieted. Not peaceful.
Just still.
For a moment.
Syn stood in the kitchen, her body still unsteady from the events that had unfolded earlier. The air felt heavier now. Thicker.
Her eyes drifted to the floor.
Shards of glass still glinted faintly under the light.
She could sweep them up.
She should.
But something about them stopped her.
They looked too much like the truth she had been sweeping around for years.
A single tear slipped down her cheek before she even realized it had formed.
She let her feet move.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
Up the stairs.
She gathered her nighttime essentials, moving through routine like muscle memory. Cotton pads. Cleanser. Silk wrap.
Control.
That’s what routine gave her.
She turned the faucet and let the tub fill.
Steam rose, thick and clouding. She dropped eucalyptus into the water, letting the scent bloom into the room.
Something clean.
Something clarifying.
She eased into the bath.
The water burned against her skin at first.
Hot.
Unforgiving.
But even that sting didn’t compare to the sound of Serenity storming out earlier.
Didn’t compare to the way her daughter’s voice trembled when she said “You lied.”
Syn leaned her head back against the tub pillow and closed her eyes.
The jets hummed to life beneath her.
The vibration filled the silence.
But it didn’t drown the words.
Every sentence Serenity had thrown at her echoed.
Every look of betrayal.
Every pause.
She had convinced herself that taking the fall quietly was strength.
That protecting her child from the ugliness of the truth was mercy.
But mercy without honesty is manipulation.
And she knew that now.
The water rippled around her.
Warm.
Restless.
Just like her mind.
For years she believed silence was protection.
Tonight she realized it was postponement.
And postponement always demands payment.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.
There would be no easy way back to her daughter.
No simple apology that could mend what had fractured.
All she could do now…
Was stand in what she had done.
Even if it meant losing the version of herself her daughter once trusted.
Kae Jaye The Writer 