She had just finished arranging a small vase of lavender on her bedside table when the door opened.
Jack stepped in.
His shoulders were rigid,
his jaw tight,
his expression a controlled storm.
She sighed.
"Jack… I just woke up. Can we not—"
"No," he cut in sharply.
"We need to talk."
She sat back, tense.
"What now?"
Jack closed the door behind him and turned toward her,
eyes burning with frustration.
"Him," he said.
"That boy. You're letting him into your life."
She clenched her jaw.
"So?"
Jack threw his hands up.
"So?!"
He paced once across the room, struggling to contain himself.
"He's not good for you. He's weak. He's broken. He's nothing."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Don't talk about him like that."
Jack froze mid-step.
She continued, her voice sharp:
"He is the kindest person I've ever met. He's gentle. He's sincere. He actually cares."
Jack scoffed loudly.
"Cares?!"
He turned to her, eyes wide with disbelief.
"He's a mess. He can barely look people in the eye without shaking. He flinches at shadows. He breaks down if someone raises their voice. How is that someone you want in your life?"
Because she knew what real cruelty felt like.
She knew the difference between a broken heart and a violent one.
She stood up slowly, meeting Jack eye-to-eye.
"He flinches," she said quietly,
"because people like you made him live in fear."
Jack's eyes widened—hurt flashing through them.
"That's not fair," he muttered.
"It's true," she answered firmly.
"You broke him, Jack. You hurt him. You nearly killed him."
Jack's mouth tightened.
"I was angry—"
"You always are," she snapped.
"That's your excuse for everything."
He took a step closer, voice low and urgent.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?" she demanded.
"From someone who actually makes me happy?"
Jack clenched his fists.
"You think he's strong enough to protect you? You think he can handle the world you're in? He can barely handle himself!"
Her eyes softened—
not with sadness,
but with fierce loyalty.
"I don't want someone who can fight the world," she whispered.
"I want someone who can love me without hurting me."
Jack flinched as if the words stabbed him.
"And he does," she continued.
"He loves me. More honestly than anyone ever has."
Jack's breathing grew uneven.
"You're choosing him over me," he whispered.
She shook her head gently.
"No, Jack. I'm choosing a different kind of life. One where fear isn't normal. One where love isn't a weapon."
Jack's voice cracked—
"He'll never be enough for you."
She looked straight into his eyes.
"He already is."
Those four words shattered something inside Jack.
His face twisted with anger, confusion, grief.
"You're blinded," he breathed.
"You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking more clearly than I ever have."
Jack stepped back, shaking his head violently.
"No. No. I won't let this happen. You don't know him. You don't know what he's capable of. He's weak. He's unstable. He's—"
"He's better than you," she whispered softly,
cutting him off.
Silence.
Deep.
Sharp.
Devastating.
Jack stared at her as if she had slapped him.
For the first time, she saw true pain in his eyes—
not anger,
not rage,
but heartbreak.
He whispered:
"I'm losing you."
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling.
"Not because of him, Jack.
Because of you."
Jack's breath caught.
He looked away—
for once unable to face her.
Then, in a broken voice as he reached for the door:
"This isn't over."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
And she collapsed back onto the bed,
hands shaking,
heart aching…
because loving someone was hard.
But letting go of family
was harder.
She was still sitting on the edge of the bed,
arms wrapped around herself,
breathing shaky after the argument with Jack.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly.
Her hands trembled.
Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
She didn't hear the door open at first.
But then—
"Hey,"
his soft voice filled the room.
She looked up immediately.
He stood there,
breathing hard,
panic still lingering in his eyes from hearing their raised voices,
but relief washing over him when he saw she was unharmed.
He walked toward her,
slow at first—
as if afraid to intrude—
but when she reached out a trembling hand…
He rushed the rest of the way,
kneeling beside her bed
and pulling her gently into his arms.
She leaned into him,
burying her face in his chest,
holding onto him like he was the only safe thing left in the world.
"I'm here," he whispered,
his fingers stroking her hair.
"I'm right here.
You're not alone."
She let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you… I needed—"
The door opened again.
Jack.
His presence felt like ice slicing through the warm moment.
The boy stiffened in her arms.
Jack's steps were slow,
heavy,
deliberate—
the same way he used to walk when cornering someone.
The boy's breathing hitched instantly.
His hands froze mid-motion.
She felt him start to tremble.
Just from the sound of Jack's footsteps.
Her heart dropped.
Jack stopped a few feet away,
arms crossed,
eyes cold and unreadable.
He took one step closer.
Just one.
And that was all it took.
The boy flinched violently,
pulling back instinctively as if expecting a blow—
his body reacting faster than his mind could stop it.
His eyes widened.
His chest heaved.
A silent, invisible terror wrapped around him again.
"Hey— hey, look at me," she whispered, cupping his cheeks,
trying to break him out of the panic.
But he couldn't.
His eyes weren't seeing her.
They were seeing something else—
the gun,
the shouting,
the hit that almost came,
the years of fear.
Jack watched it unfold.
A bitter smirk twisted his lips.
"Did you see?" he said to his sister quietly.
Her eyes snapped toward him in anger.
Jack nodded at the boy,
still shaking in her arms.
"Did you see what happens the moment I take a single step toward him?
He falls apart."
She clenched her fists.
"Stop it."
Jack ignored her.
"He's terrified of me.
He always will be.
And no matter how much you love him…"
Jack's eyes darkened,
voice dangerously calm,
"you can't fix that."
She stood, fury burning through her veins.
"Jack— get out."
Jack's eyes met hers—hard, cold.
"If he can't even handle my presence," he said,
"how is he going to protect you?"
Her voice rose, shaking with emotion:
"HE DOESN'T HAVE TO PROTECT ME!
HE'S NOT YOU!"
Jack's jaw tightened.
But his words were already planted
like poison in the air.
He looked at the trembling boy one last time…
And for a moment—
a flicker of satisfaction
and sorrow
crossed his face.
Then he left.
The door slammed shut.
She turned immediately to the boy,
pulling him gently into her arms again.
"It's okay," she whispered,
her voice breaking.
"He won't hurt you.
He won't.
I promise."
But deep inside…
Jack's words echoed.
Not because they were true—
but because trauma was a monster that didn't leave easily.
And they both knew it.