And his wife ...she didn’t deserve any of it.
She was kind in a soft, practical way.She snuck extra food onto our plates when he wasn’t looking.She let us sit at the kitchen table with her while she cooked, telling stories that kept our minds busy so we wouldn’t hear what was happening down the hall.She stood between him and us more than once—small, determined, terrified—but she did it anyway.
I remember her stepping in front of me once, her hands trembling so hard I thought they’d break apart.
He had been screaming—some nonsense about chores or respect or whatever lie he needed to justify his rage—and he shoved me so hard my knees hit the ground.Before I could breathe, she was there, blocking him with her body.
“Enough,” she’d whispered, voice barely a thread.
He struck her for it.
And she still looked back at me afterward, eyes shining with something fierce, like she’d do it again.As if protecting us mattered more than her own bruises.
One day, she was gone.
“Accident,” they said at first, but every kid in that house knew better.Every kid learned what fear tasted like.Every kid learned what it meant to be powerless.
A couple of days later, he was in custody, and we were shipped yet again to other places where things would be better or worse depending on the family we got.That’s when I learned that you have to keep your ground, be tough, and punch first before they punch you.
I look at Dr.Bennet now, throat tight with something I don’t want to name.
“Yeah, I don’t want to be like him,” I say quietly.“Ever.I don’t want to be someone people need to hide from.He always told his wife he loved her and ...”
I drag in a slow breath.
“And when I’m around Mara and Mila ...I keep thinking, what if something in me snaps one day?What if I turn into him without meaning to?What if all this work, all these years, all this therapy ...isn’t enough?”
Dr.Bennet leans back, studying me—not like a threat, but like a man trying to find the right doorway into a collapsing building.
“You’re afraid of becoming him,” he says.“But from everything you’ve told me, you’ve spent your entire life doing the opposite of what he did.”
I swallow hard.“I hit shit, rearrange people’s noses when they?—”
“You were high, you were afraid ...there were a lot of factors that took you to that point,” he interrupts me.“You were used to defending your territory because of the way you grew up.When was the last time you had a physical altercation with anyone?You’ve been working hard on yourself for years.Why are you disregarding all that hard work?”
I open my mouth and close it, but nothing comes out.
“Fear doesn’t mean fate,” he continues.“It means you care enough to question yourself.That alone separates you from him entirely.”
I shake my head, frustrated.“Then why do I feel wired when she’s near me?Why do I want to protect her more than I trust myself?Why do I want to be close to them when I know I shouldn’t?”
His expression softens in a way that makes me want to bolt.
“Because, Alec,” he says quietly, “you’re not him.And the part of you that’s afraid?That’s the part that’s been trying to keep you safe your whole life.”
I close my eyes.
Protective.
Caring.
Drawn.
All the things I’m not supposed to feel.
All the things that terrify me more than anything else.
Yeah.
