[Pauline's Living Room — Late Night]
The knock came softly.
Pauline had already turned off most of the lights, the house wrapped in the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day of holding herself together.
She frowned when she heard it—once, twice—hesitant, almost unsure.
When she opened the door, Jack stood there.
"Jack?" she whispered. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
He stood there like a ghost of himself.
His shoulders were slumped, eyes red and swollen and his hair disheveled as though he had dragged his hands through it a hundred times.
He didn't wait for her to invite him in. The moment he saw her face, something inside him shattered.
"I am sorry," he sobbed. "I am so sorry, Mom."
Then he broke.
Jack collapsed to his knees right there, hands clutching at her legs as if she were the only thing keeping him upright. His forehead pressed into her lap, his body folding in on itself, sobs tearing out of him—loud, broken, unrestrained.
