The hallway was almost empty.
The boy stood near the vending machine,
hands still trembling from the emotion of seeing her safe,
but his eyes alert—
always alert now.
He heard footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Her father walked out of her room, closing the door gently behind him.
Jack stood a few meters away,
rigid, pale, eyes full of dread.
The air thickened.
The boy froze where he stood—
half-hidden, half-seen—
but he couldn't look away.
He was about to witness something no one else had ever seen.
---
Her father stopped in front of Jack.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
He just looked at him.
Jack's breath shook.
"Dad…"
His voice was small—
a shadow of the terrifying boy the protagonist once feared.
His father's voice came out low and cold.
"What were you thinking?"
Jack swallowed hard, backing one step away.
"I—I didn't mean… for her to get hurt—"
"You almost killed her," his father cut sharply.
Jack's face crumpled.
"I know. I know, I swear— it wasn't supposed to happen like that—"
"You pointed a gun at your sister," the man said, stepping closer.
"AT. YOUR. SISTER."
Jack flinched with every word.
"I wasn't aiming at her!" Jack cried, voice cracking.
"I was angry at him— I wanted to scare him— I thought—"
"That boy?"
His father's glare sharpened.
"You tried to murder him, Jack."
Jack's voice dropped to a whisper.
"I know."
His father's voice grew sharper.
"You don't get to know," he snapped.
"You fix your life, Jack.
You fix your temper.
You fix your messes.
You fix your sister's trust—"
"I CAN'T!" Jack exploded suddenly,
his voice raw,
crushed,
full of a grief that tore through him.
His father froze.
Jack's chest heaved.
Tears ran down his face uncontrollably.
"I can't… I can't fix her," he whispered.
"She won't look at me.
She hates me.
She hates me, Dad…"
Jack covered his face with shaking hands.
"I lost her.
I lost everything."
The boy watching felt something strange in his chest—
not pity, exactly,
but something painfully human.
Jack wasn't a monster at that moment.
He was a shattered man.
His father grabbed his wrists and lowered his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"You did this," he said quietly.
"You. Not anyone else."
Jack nodded helplessly, tears falling again.
"I know…"
His father's voice softened just a fraction—
a crack in the armor.
"She's alive.
That is the only reason you're standing here now."
Jack froze.
"You want forgiveness?" his father asked.
"Earn it."
Jack swallowed, nodding slowly, broken.
His father stepped back.
But then—
He noticed something.
His gaze drifted past Jack…
To the boy.
The boy wasn't hiding.
He stood there, watching, breathing hard.
Jack saw him too.
Shame washed over Jack's face like a storm.
For the first time ever—
Jack looked away from the boy.
Not out of anger.
Not out of controlling dominance.
Out of humiliation.
Out of guilt.
Out of the crushing truth of what he had done.
The father turned to the boy briefly.
A silent exchange passed between them:
I know what he did to you.
And I know you saw everything.
But I see you too.
Then he faced Jack again.
"Fix yourself," he ordered.
Jack lowered his head—
a broken child,
no longer the villain.
"Yes, sir…"
And as the father walked away,
the boy remained standing there—
breathing hard,
heart pounding,
realizing something he never imagined:
Jack was not the most terrifying man in that hallway.
But he was the most lost.
It had been weeks.
Weeks of recovery.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of waiting—
for wounds to close,
for hearts to steady,
for the world to feel safe again.
The morning she was discharged,
the sun was gentle,
the air soft,
as if the sky itself understood she had been through enough.
She walked slowly along the familiar street,
one hand pressed lightly against her side where the wound still ached,
the other tucked in her jacket pocket.
Every step closer to the flower shop made her chest tighten—
not from pain,
but from memories.
Memories of lavender.
Of shy smiles.
Of fear.
Of love.
Of betrayal.
Of forgiveness.
When she reached the little stand,
her breath caught.
He was there.
Arranging flowers the way she taught him,
carefully, gently—
like every petal mattered.
He looked up.
For a moment, the world stopped.
His eyes widened,
softened,
then warmed in a way that made her heartbeat stumble.
"You're here…" he whispered,
as if he wasn't sure she was real.
She smiled—small, fragile.
"I'm home."
He stepped forward instinctively
but stopped himself halfway,
unsure if he was allowed to touch her.
So she closed the distance instead—
gently placing her hand on his arm.
"I missed this place," she said softly.
"…and you."
His lips parted, breath shaky.
"I missed you too."
There was tenderness in the space between them—
something calm,
something new,
something healing.
But the moment didn't last long.
Footsteps echoed behind them.
She froze.
He turned his head slowly.
Jack.
Standing at the end of the street,
hands in his pockets,
shoulders tense,
eyes fixed on them both.
He hadn't followed her at first.
He had stayed away.
He had given her space.
But today…
he couldn't.
He walked toward them,
not confidently as before,
but carefully—
like he was afraid the ground might break under his feet.
She stepped instinctively closer to the boy,
and Jack noticed.
His jaw tightened…
…but he didn't say anything.
He just stopped a few steps away.
The boy looked at him.
Jack looked back.
Two pairs of eyes met—
one filled with quiet pain,
the other with guilt heavy enough to crush a man.
They didn't speak.
There was nothing left to say.
But in that silent stare,
something undeniable passed between them:
Recognition.
Regret.
Warning.
And a fragile hint of understanding.
Jack lowered his gaze first.
Not out of defeat.
But out of something resembling respect.
He turned away,
walking back down the street,
hands trembling in his pockets.
She watched him disappear around the corner,
a faint ache in her chest.
She whispered,
"He's trying."
The boy nodded slowly.
"I know."
Then he looked at her again—
gentle, hopeful.
"Are you… staying?" he asked quietly.
She smiled, eyes softening.
"Yes," she whispered.
"If you'll have me."
He didn't answer with words.
He simply reached out,
took her hand slowly—carefully—
as if she were made of delicate glass…
…and she let him.
The flower shop
felt whole again.
She was sitting on the hospital rooftop,
wrapped in a sweater,
the evening sun painting a warm glow across her face.
It was peaceful.
Quiet.
Almost normal.
Then the door opened.
Jack stepped out.
He looked… different.
His usual arrogance was gone.
His shoulders were slumped,
his eyes tired,
his face pale with guilt.
"Can I… talk to you?" he asked,
voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't answer immediately.
After a long moment, she nodded.
Jack approached slowly,
as if afraid of getting too close.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry for everything.
For dragging you into this.
For losing control.
For hurting you."
His voice cracked.
"I don't know what I was thinking.
I just… I thought I was protecting you.
I thought I was doing what was best."
She stared at him—
long, silent, unreadable.
Then she spoke:
"I'll forgive you."
Jack's shoulders loosened with relief.
"But only," she added,
her voice sharp as a blade,
"if you stay away from him."
Jack froze.
"What?"
"You heard me," she whispered.
"If you want my forgiveness…
you stay away from him.
No threats.
No intimidation.
No plans.
Nothing."
Jack's eyes widened.
A spark of anger flickered in them.
"You're asking me to stay away from the boy who ruined everything?" he hissed.
"He didn't ruin anything," she said coldly.
"You did."
Jack clenched his fists.
"He stole you from me," he snapped.
"He made you turn against your own brother."
"No," she said firmly.
"You did that when you pointed a gun at me."
Jack flinched as if she'd slapped him.
She continued:
"He is kind.
He is gentle.
He saved my life.
I love him."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
Then Jack exploded.
"LOVE?!" he shouted,
voice echoing across the rooftop.
"YOU LOVE HIM?!"
She didn't look away.
"Yes."
Jack's face twisted—
rage, betrayal, disbelief mixing into something sharp and unstable.
"You're supposed to hate him," he growled.
"You're supposed to help me break him.
You were on MY side."
"I was," she whispered.
"Until I realized you don't have a side.
You have an obsession."
Jack stepped closer, eyes burning.
"I won't accept this," he spit.
"I won't accept him in your life.
I won't accept you choosing him— HIM—over me."
She stood up slowly.
"I'm not choosing him over you," she said calmly.
"I'm choosing myself."
Jack froze.
She took a deep breath.
"And myself… doesn't want you hurting him anymore."
Jack trembled with anger.
"I'm your brother," he said, voice low and dangerous.
"And he," she whispered softly,
"is the one person who ever treated me like I mattered."
Jack's face went cold.
Emotionless.
"You're blinded," he muttered.
"You're lost.
But I won't allow this.
Not now.
Not ever."
He turned sharply, storming toward the door.
But before he opened it, he paused.
Without looking back, he said:
"If you stay with him…
you lose me."
She exhaled shakily.
"Then go," she whispered.
"Because I won't lose him."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Leaving her alone on the rooftop—
heart broken yet steady,
breathing through the weight of the choice she had just made.