The days that followed the torment inflicted by my father and by Jack carried a fragile mercy—
a mercy that felt thin, temporary, almost embarrassed to stay.
Jack's shadow didn't leave me.
His voice still crawled into my sleep, poisoning whatever peace I tried to hold on to.
Sometimes I would wake up gasping, certain he was standing above me again…
that his hands would strike,
that his laugh would echo,
that the old schoolyard cruelty would start all over as if time never moved at all.
It became painfully clear that the wounds carved into my spirit were far from healed.
They weren't even close.
Through all of this, my sister never left me.
She became the quiet heartbeat beside mine—
a presence that tried, again and again, to pull me back into the world.
She begged me to see a specialist.
She pleaded softly, with trembling hands and worried eyes, telling me that I didn't have to be afraid anymore…
but I was.
Deep inside, a part of me still believed it was all another cruel trap, another illusion waiting to collapse.
Meanwhile, Jack's father was drowning.
The ruin of his business grew worse each day, and the consequences fell on me again.
I had to return to work.
But this time, you were with me—
and the weight of caring for you settled on my shoulders like a vow I didn't know how to carry,
yet somehow, I wanted to.
I owed you that much.
I owed myself that much.
Still… as I stepped back into that world,
a silent terror walked beside me.
The fear that the past would open its jaws again—
that the cruelty, the shouting, the commands, the beatings—
would rise from the ashes and claim me all over again.
And I wasn't sure…
whether I could survive it a second time.
With time, life forced me to search for a different kind of work—
something that didn't require strength I no longer had,
something that wouldn't chain me to another man's cruelty.
My sister was the one who thought of it first.
"We can sell flowers," she said softly.
"From our home. No bosses. No shouting. Just us."
And for the first time, I agreed without fear.
So we did.
She arranged the roses, the lavender branches, the lilies and jasmine with hands that understood beauty better than I ever could.
I handled the deliveries, the small stand we set outside our door, the quiet moments where people stopped to buy a piece of color to brighten their day.
Selling flowers…
was nothing like the life I had known.
No one screamed.
No one threatened.
No one raised a hand.
It was peaceful—almost too peaceful for someone like me.
Until she appeared.
A girl stopped in front of our stand one afternoon.
The sunlight fell over her like it had chosen her specifically—
a warm glow on soft brown hair that flowed gently over her shoulders,
and eyes…
eyes the color of green I had only seen in dreams.
Beautiful.
Quietly, effortlessly beautiful.
She looked at me.
Not at the flowers.
At me.
And for a moment, she didn't blink.
I felt… exposed.
As if she could see the cracks under my skin, the bruises time could not erase.
Then she stepped closer.
Her voice—
soft, warm, like silk brushing warm air—
cut through the silence I wore like armor.
"You look… sad," she said.
"Are you okay?"
I froze.
I didn't understand why she would ask me that.
Why she cared.
Why her eyes held something gentle—almost loving—when she had never seen me before.
People didn't look at me like that.
People never did.
I lowered my gaze, unable to hold hers.
I didn't trust anyone.
Not anymore.
Not after everything.
But she wasn't like the others.
There was no judgement.
No cruelty.
No sharpness in her tone.
Just kindness…
pure, simple kindness—
the kind I had never learned how to accept.
She chose a small bouquet of lavender, still watching me with those soft green eyes.
As if she already knew…
that the boy in front of her had forgotten how to be unharmed,
how to be loved,
how to be seen.
And yet…
she saw me anyway.