The house was too quiet the next morning.
–
:
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Not peaceful quiet the kind that comes after a storm, when everything feels like it’s still vibrating from the damage.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my head pounding from another sleepless night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it all again Mom’s shocked face, Jackson’s voice cracking as he yelled, the way the air had felt so heavy I could barely breathe.
1
Now it was Sunday morning, and the silence felt like punishment.
I could hear the faint clatter of dishes downstairs, the sound of Mom moving around the kitchen like she was pretending nothing had happened. She always did that – filled the space with busy noise when things got too
hard to talk about.
I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on one of Jackson’s old sweatshirts, and padded down the hall. His bedroom door was still closed. I hesitated outside it, listening for movement. Nothing.
He hadn’t said a word to me since last night.
When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was at the counter, pouring herself coffee. She looked exhausted dark circles under her eyes, hair tied up in a messy bun.
“Morning,” I said quietly.
She turned, forcing a small smile. “Hey, sweetheart. You hungry?”
I shook my head.
“You should eat something,” she said, automatically. “There’s cereal, or I can―”
“Mom.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “You don’t have to do that.”
—
She stopped mid–motion, the spoon in her hand hovering over the counter. For a moment, she looked like she might argue
– then her shoulders sagged. “I just hate how we left things last night.”
“Me too,” I admitted.
She took a deep breath and sat down at the table. I followed, sitting across from her.
“Jackson’s still asleep?” she asked.
“Door’s shut,” I said. “Probably pretending to be.”
A ghost of a smile flickered on her face, then faded. “He’s angry.”
15:16 Sun, Oct 19
Chapter 108
“I know.”
“Not just at me,” she said quietly. “At himself. At… everything.”
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I traced my finger along a scratch in the table, remembering the way Jackson’s voice had broken last night.
I hate being the only guy in this house.
If it wasn’t for Noah’s dad, I wouldn’t even know how to shave.
He hadn’t been wrong.
—
—
Mom and me and somewhere along the way, he must’ve
He’d been raised in a house full of women started to feel like he didn’t belong anywhere.
“He said some things he didn’t mean,” Mom added after a long pause.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “And some things he did.”
She looked up at me then, her eyes soft but full of something raw. “You two have always been close, even when you fight. He’ll come around.”
I wanted to believe her. But the way Jackson had looked at her last night — like something inside him had cracked open
made me doubt that it would be that simple.
–
My phone buzzed on the counter, pulling my attention away. I picked it up – another text from Mariah.
M:
You up?
Jessa:
Barely.
M:
Good. Get dressed. I’m coming over.
Jessa:
Why?
M:
Because if you hide out all weekend, they win. And I refuse to let that happen.
Mom noticed. “Mariah?”
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