The moment Lina's parents turned the corner and disappeared down the hallway,
the silence in the hospital snapped like a thin thread.
The boy stood frozen,
chest rising and falling too fast,
hands trembling.
Something inside him cracked.
Then he ran after them.
"Wait!"
His voice echoed through the corridor.
His parents stopped, irritated.
The boy's steps were unsteady,
like he was carrying years of weight on his shoulders.
When he reached them,
he didn't look angry.
He looked broken.
"Why now?" he whispered.
"Why come now?"
His mother crossed her arms.
"We came for your sister—"
"No," he snapped, voice shaking.
"You came because someone told you.
You didn't come for me.
You never come for me."
His father scoffed.
"Don't start this nonsense—"
"Nonsense?"
The boy's laugh was sharp and painful.
"You think this is nonsense?"
His breath faltered.
Tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them.
"If you didn't want me…"
His voice cracked open.
"…why did you have me?"
The parents stiffened.
He took another shaky step forward, voice rising.
"Why did you bring me to this world if you were never going to love me?
Why did you leave me to work at twelve?
Why did you never ask where I was when I disappeared with Jack?
Why didn't you look for me?"
His father's jaw tightened.
"That was a difficult time—"
"A difficult time?" the boy shouted.
"I was a child!
I needed you!
And you left me alone!
You didn't care where I slept, what I ate—
you didn't even care if I lived or died!"
His mother's eyes narrowed defensively.
"You were fine—"
"I WASN'T!" he screamed.
His voice broke so violently that even the walls seemed to flinch.
Lina, Jack, and Sally had stepped out into the hallway,
watching from a distance.
Lina covered her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes.
Sally's face tightened with anger toward the parents.
And Jack—
For once in his life,
he looked devastated.
He watched the boy—not with hatred—
but with something deep, sad, and painfully understanding.
The boy's voice dropped to a whisper.
"I was your son."
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"And you made me feel like nothing."
His parents looked uncomfortable—
not remorseful,
not apologetic—
just uncomfortable.
His father exhaled impatiently.
"We don't have time for this emotional drama."
The boy stared at him.
Then something inside him shattered completely.
"…Right," he whispered.
"That's all I ever was to you.
Drama."
His parents turned to leave.
He didn't stop them.
He just whispered to their backs:
"I hope one day you understand what you did to me."
The hallway fell silent again.
His legs gave out.
He slid to the floor, hands shaking uncontrollably.
---
Lina rushed forward, kneeling beside him.
"Hey… hey, look at me," she whispered through tears.
"I'm here. I'm here for you."
Sally placed a hand on his back, steady and warm.
"You're not alone," she said softly.
And Jack—
Jack knelt down too.
Not close.
Not touching.
But beside him.
His voice was low, heavy with a kind of pain he never showed.
"They were wrong," Jack said quietly.
"You were never nothing."
The boy looked up at him through blurred vision.
Jack swallowed hard.
"You matter," he said.
"More than you know."
Lina held her brother's hand tightly.
Sally kept her palm on his back.
Jack stayed on the floor beside him,
shoulder to shoulder,
not touchThe hospital hallway had emptied.
Lina was taken back to her room,
Sally walked with the doctor,
and the lights dimmed to a soft evening glow.
The boy sat alone on a bench near the window,
knees pulled close,
hands still trembling faintly from everything that had happened.
His eyes were red.
His breaths shallow.
He looked small—
not physically,
but in the way someone looks after breaking open a part of their soul.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Heavy.
Uncertain.
The boy didn't look up.
He didn't have to.
He knew the steps.
Jack stopped right in front of him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Jack looked down at the floor,
hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets,
jaw tight,
eyes avoiding the boy's face.
He exhaled slowly.
"I heard… everything," he said quietly.
The boy said nothing.
Jack swallowed hard.
"What they said to you."
His voice softened in a way it never had.
"What you said back."
Still, no answer.
Jack's throat tightened.
He sat down beside him.
Not too close—
just enough to share the same silence.
Minutes passed.
Jack finally spoke again.
"…I'm sorry."
The boy froze.
He turned slowly, shocked.
Jack kept staring ahead,
eyes fixed on the floor.
"I'm not good at this," he muttered.
"I've never apologized to anyone before."
He clenched his hands.
"But I need to say it."
His voice cracked slightly.
"For what I did to you.
For making things worse when your whole life was already…"
He swallowed.
"…falling apart."
The boy blinked.
"Nobody forced you to go through what you did," Jack whispered.
"No kid deserves that.
Not even someone I hated."
He turned his head just a little,
enough to finally look at the boy.
"And I did hate you," he said honestly.
"Because hating you was easier than understanding you."
The boy swallowed hard.
Jack continued.
"But today…"
He shook his head slowly.
"Today I realized I never knew anything.
You were just a kid.
A scared, hurting kid.
And I made your life worse."
His voice shook—
only for a second,
but enough to show something raw beneath the surface.
"You didn't deserve what I did to you," he said quietly.
Silence.
The boy's eyes filled with tears again—
but this time not from fear…
From being seen.
Really, honestly seen.
Jack looked away again, embarrassed.
"If you want to hate me," he muttered,
"I'll accept it."
The boy stared at him.
Then he whispered:
"…I don't hate you."
Jack stiffened.
"What?"
"I don't," the boy repeated softly.
"I was terrified of you… yes.
But I never hated you."
Jack's jaw tightened.
He hadn't expected forgiveness.
He didn't know how to hold it.
The boy wiped his eyes.
"And you helped me," he whispered.
"With the panic attack.
You didn't have to.
But you did."
Jack looked down.
"Yeah, well…"
he muttered gruffly,
"don't get used to it."
The boy gave a tiny, broken laugh.
Jack cleared his throat—
the closest thing he had to vulnerability.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said.
"I haven't earned that.
But…"
He looked at him again—
not harsh,
not dominant,
just human.
"…I'm trying."
The boy nodded slowly.
"I know," he whispered.
For a long moment,
they simply sat together—
the strongest and weakest parts of both of them exposed in the fading hospital light.
Then Jack stood.
"I'm still not good at this," he said.
"But if anyone hurts you again…"
his eyes darkened,
"…they'll deal with me."
The boy stared at him.
Something warm and fragile entered his chest.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Jack gave the smallest nod—
barely a movement—
and walked away.
Not as an enemy.
Not as a threat.
But as someone who, for the first time…
Cared.
ing—
but present.
For the first time in his life…
The boy wasn't abandoned after breaking.
He was held—
in three different ways—
by three people who actually cared.