The kitchen smelled faintly of chamomile and soap, the lingering scent of Rachel Carter's hands as she pressed a damp cloth to her son's cheek. The bruising along Jake's jaw darkened beneath her touch. Her auburn hair slipped loose from its knot, strands brushing his shoulder as she leaned closer, eyes sharp with restrained fury.
"Hold still, Jake," she murmured, steady but tender. "It's not as bad as it feels. You'll heal."
Jake winced, his piercing blue eyes lowering. "Mom… I can't keep letting him do this."
"You're not letting him." Her voice hardened, rich with defiance. "That boy, Tyler Matthews, he thrives on fear. If you give him silence, he thinks he's winning."
Jake swallowed. "But I am afraid." His fingers curled against his jeans, knuckles pale. "Every time I see him, I can't breathe."
Rachel set the cloth aside, lifting his chin with gentle strength. "Fear doesn't make you weak, Jake. It makes you human. What matters is what you do with it."
Her gaze burned into him, as if willing her strength into his bones. For a heartbeat, Jake held her eyes, then broke away, shame pressing down.
A small laugh cut through the air. Annie burst into the room, her chestnut hair flying, hazel eyes bright with mischief. She leapt onto the couch beside Jake and threw her arms around his neck.
"Jakey!" she giggled, freckles dancing across her nose. "You look like you fought a bear."
Jake groaned, managing a smile. "More like a bear fought me."
Rachel's lips softened into a smile she rarely allowed herself. "He'll live, Annie." She turned next to Jake, "Though maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you to duck, hm?"
"Duck?" Annie tilted her head, laughter bubbling. "Then Tyler would've called him a chicken."
Jake chuckled despite the ache in his ribs, his sister's warmth cutting through the heaviness. "You're impossible, Annie."
"Am not!" she protested, tugging at his sleeve. "Come outside with me, pleeease. I found a caterpillar. He's green and fuzzy, and I named him Mr. Wobbles."
"You should be resting," Rachel interjected, hands on her hips. "No climbing fences or running around tonight."
"Aw, Mom." Annie pouted dramatically, then leaned close to Jake, whispering loud enough for all to hear, "She doesn't understand, does she?"
Jake smirked, ruffling her hair. "She understands better than both of us."
Rachel shook her head, amused, but her eyes lingered on her children as though memorizing the moment. In their small, cluttered home, laughter fought valiantly against shadows of poverty and the cruelty outside.
The warmth was fragile, too fragile. Jake stiffened suddenly. Out the corner of his eye, something flickered across the thin curtains, a shadow sweeping past the window.
Rachel's breath caught. Her hand instinctively reached for her son's shoulder.
"Stay here," she whispered, eyes narrowing toward the glass.
The laughter faltered, silence thickening in the room as the night pressed against their fragile safety.
Jake stretched out on the faded couch, his body stiff with bruises, but Annie clambered up beside him, refusing to give him peace. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her small frame pressing close.
"Come on, Jakey," she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "Let's play knights and dragons. You can be the knight, and I'll be the princess."
Jake groaned, trying to hide the grin forming on his lips. "I don't think knights limp into battle, Annie. My ribs are a mess."
She tilted her head, hazel eyes dancing with stubborn mischief. "Then you'll be a limping knight. The dragon won't know what hit him."
Rachel appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression torn between amusement and exasperation. "Annie, your brother needs rest, not battles. And you, Jake Carter, you'd better not encourage her."
"I'm not encouraging anything," Jake muttered, though his hand ruffled Annie's hair. "She's relentless."
Annie puffed her chest. "A true princess never gives up!"
Rachel shook her head, a weary smile escaping. "If stubbornness were gold, we'd be rich by now." She leaned against the frame, watching them. The tiny house seemed warmer when Annie laughed, brighter, despite the peeling wallpaper and worn floorboards.
Jake sighed and let Annie drag him upright. "All right, one round. But no dragons breathing fire this time. My knight's allergic."
Annie gasped theatrically. "Allergic knights? That's ridiculous!"
Rachel covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, but Jake leaned closer to Annie, whispering in a conspiratorial tone. "Don't tell anyone, but this knight sneezes so hard, dragons run away in terror."
Annie collapsed into giggles, rolling against him. "Then you don't need a sword. Just a handkerchief!"
Jake couldn't stop himself from laughing, the sound rusty and rare. For a moment, the sting of bruises faded, replaced by Annie's laughter filling the room like sunlight.
Rachel's gaze softened. "See? That's better than moping. Both of you."
Jake looked at his mother. Her smile was tired but strong, her auburn hair tied back, strands falling loose. He wanted to believe her strength could hold them together forever.
Annie tugged at him again. "Come on, Jakey. Pretend you're rescuing me. I'll scream really loud so the neighbors know you're brave."
Jake shook his head. "No need. They already think I'm a trouble magnet."
Rachel stepped closer, brushing Jake's hair from his forehead. "You're not trouble, Jake. You're my son. Don't forget that."
The words clung to him like armor, but before he could respond, a sharp crack shattered the moment.
Glass rained across the floor as the front window burst inward, shards glittering like knives under the dim light. Annie shrieked, clutching his arm, as a rock rolled across the carpet.
From outside, a voice carried through the night, mocking, familiar, cruel.
"Sweet dreams, Carter!"
Jake froze, his breath caught. Tyler's laugh echoed from the darkness.
Rachel's breath caught as glass scattered across the living room floor, sparkling like cruel stars. Annie whimpered, burying her face against Jake's chest. He held her tight, shielding her small body with his own, though his arms trembled.
Rachel's jaw tightened. She stepped forward, her voice a low growl. "Stay with her, Jake."
"Mom, don't, " Jake started, panic lacing his voice.
Rachel turned, already moving toward the door. "They think they can terrify us? Not while I'm breathing."
Jake rose halfway, still holding Annie. "Mom, wait!"
But Rachel was gone, the screen door slamming against the frame with a hollow bang.
Outside, the night was a silent wall of shadows. Rachel scanned the yard, her chest heaving. "Show yourselves!" she shouted, her voice sharp, carried on the cool air. "Cowards!"
Her eyes darted from the fence to the street. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a footstep. Just the empty hiss of the wind stirring the dry grass.
She clenched her fists. "You come near my children again, and I swear, "
The night gave no answer. Only her own echo returned to her, brittle and small.
Inside, Jake set Annie on the couch, carefully sweeping the shards away with the edge of a blanket. His hands shook as glass clinked into a pile, but he forced calm into his voice. "Don't move, Annie."
Her eyes were wide, tearful. "Jake… was that Tyler?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Stay quiet, okay? Mom will handle it."
Annie sniffled, her small fingers clutching his arm. "What if he comes back?"
Jake glanced toward the door, his chest aching with helplessness. "Then he'll have to deal with me." His voice cracked, but Annie clung to the words like a shield.
Rachel reappeared in the doorway, her shoulders tense, her face pale beneath the porch light. She closed the door firmly, locking it, though she knew locks meant little against malice.
"Gone," she said flatly.
Jake lifted the blanket of glass, shaking the shards into the trash. His voice was tight. "Why do they keep doing this?"
Rachel knelt beside Annie, pulling her into her arms. "Because weak boys think fear makes them strong." She pressed her lips to Annie's hair, though her hands trembled.
Jake swallowed hard, anger and fear tangling in his chest. "We should call the police."
Rachel shook her head. "And what will they do? Tyler's father owns half this town." Her voice dropped to a whisper, more to herself than to them. "If they come again, God help me…"
The words hung in the room, sharp as the broken glass still glinting under the lamplight. Jake's eyes caught hers, a flick
er of fear and something darker stirring.
Outside, the silence pressed in too heavy, too deliberate, as though the night itself waited.