Nathan woke with a dull throb in his scalp, a lingering ache from the rough way his father had seized him the night before. The memory of that pull, harsh and unyielding, flashed through his mind. He took in a shallow breath, feeling the lingering tension like an iron band around his chest. The room was still, too quiet, as he rose from bed, every movement heavy, as if he were dragging the weight of the entire night with him. The silence pressed in on him, each soundless step filling him with the dread he'd been pushing aside for weeks.
He shuffled into the bathroom, barely aware of his surroundings as he turned on the shower. The cold water hit his skin in a sudden rush, and he shivered, goosebumps rising along his arms. He welcomed the chill, relishing the way it jolted him from his half-dazed state. Nathan closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the cold water pour over him. For a while, he simply stood there, hands braced against the shower wall, water streaming down his face and chest as if it might somehow wash away the exhaustion, the stress, the lingering soreness. The cold seeped into him, layer by layer, numbing him in a way he craved.
He lingered far longer than necessary, savoring the brief escape. But eventually, he could avoid it no longer. With a heavy sigh, he turned off the water, reaching for a towel and draping it loosely around his waist. Droplets still clung to his skin, his hair damp and unruly, as he stepped into the quiet, empty house. Then came the knock—a sudden, sharp intrusion in the silence. His heart jolted, the uneasy calm shattered in an instant.
Nathan froze, every nerve on edge. He moved to the door, each step weighed down with the nagging sense that whatever lay on the other side would bring no good news. As he pulled open the door, his stomach clenched at the sight of two uniformed officers standing there, their expressions stony and unreadable.
One officer cleared his throat. "Nathan Gray?"
"Yes." Nathan's voice came out barely above a whisper, his throat dry.
The officer nodded solemnly. "Mr. Gray, we're here regarding a matter of debt. It's about your father… the creditors have notified us. They're moving forward."
Nathan's heart dropped, his mind racing. "Moving forward?" he echoed, his voice strained. "What exactly… what exactly does that mean?"
The officer shifted uncomfortably, his gaze momentarily softening. "It means, Mr. Gray, that they're preparing to take ownership of this property. We're here to inform you that this house has been marked for repossession unless the debts are paid."
Nathan's stomach twisted as the words sank in. "So… they'll take it? Just like that?" His voice wavered, the calm he struggled to maintain slipping.
"Unfortunately, yes. The debts have accumulated for too long, and the creditors are no longer willing to wait." The officer's words held no malice, only a cool detachment, as though he'd delivered similar news too many times to count.
Nathan's eyes darted back and forth, searching for any hint of leniency. "There's… there's got to be something we can do," he said, desperation edging his voice. "Isn't there some way to delay it? Some… arrangement?"
The other officer, who had remained silent until now, shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no more time for arrangements, Mr. Gray. This isn't negotiable." His voice was firm, even slightly apologetic, but the message was clear—this was final.
Nathan swallowed hard, words caught in his throat. He felt exposed, as though his desperation was painted across his face for them to see. "How much time… how much time do I have?" he managed to ask, barely recognizing his own voice.
The first officer hesitated. "A matter of days. But we wanted to give you this warning so that you could make preparations, if necessary."
Nathan nodded numbly, barely processing the words. Days. Just days to try and save the only place he'd called home. He watched as the officers exchanged a brief look, both aware of the weight they'd just placed on him.
"We're sorry, Mr. Gray," one of them said quietly, almost as an afterthought, before they both turned and walked back down the path, leaving him standing in the doorway. He watched them leave, their figures growing smaller as they made their way down the drive, until finally, he shut the door with a hollow click.
For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the door, staring at the empty space where they had stood. His legs felt weak, and he slid down to the floor, his back pressed against the wood, the rough carpet scraping against his knees. The weight of their words settled heavily on him, each one replaying in his mind until they blurred together—debt, repossession, no more time.
His chest tightened as he fought to keep back the tears welling in his eyes. He pressed his hands to his face, his fingers digging into his scalp, as if he could somehow ground himself in the pain. His head fell forward, damp strands of hair hanging into his eyes, but he didn't bother to push them away. The only thing he could feel was the emptiness stretching out around him, suffocating, as the realization hit him fully.
"This house… it's slipping away," he murmured to the quiet room, his voice breaking. It was the one place he had clung to, his last semblance of stability, and now, even that was slipping through his fingers.
Nathan world might have just begin to fall apart but Ethan world had begin to fall brick by brick.
Ethan stood at the edge of the living room, feeling as though the walls were closing in around him. His father, Gaius, loomed in front of him, the older man's face twisted with barely restrained fury. Every muscle in Gaius's body seemed tense, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his chest rising and falling with each harsh breath. His gaze bore into Ethan with a force that made it hard to look up, yet Ethan couldn't tear his eyes away from the unforgiving glare fixed upon him.
The silence in the room was razor-thin, poised to snap at any moment. It was the kind of silence Ethan had known all too well—one that always preceded his father's most vicious condemnations. Ethan's palms felt clammy, his fingers nervously clenching and unclenching around the edges of his phone. The air was thick, suffocating, every second stretching painfully as he waited for the storm to break.
Gaius's voice cut through the quiet like a knife. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he demanded, each word laced with ice. His tone was harsh, sharp enough to pierce through Ethan's thoughts and drag him into the present, leaving him no room to escape.
Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. He tried to find something to say, some defense or explanation that could lessen his father's anger, but his mind was blank, words caught in his throat like stones. His heart pounded fiercely, each beat echoing in his ears as he stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his father's relentless scrutiny.
"Answer me!" Gaius's voice rose, filling the room, leaving no corner untouched. His eyes narrowed, dark and unforgiving. "Did you think you could hide this… this disgrace?" He spat the word with such contempt that Ethan flinched, his gaze instinctively dropping to the floor.
Ethan's hands trembled, his grip on his phone tightening involuntarily. He felt the edges of the phone pressing sharply into his palm, but he welcomed the discomfort, focusing on it to steady himself. He took a slow breath, trying to calm the chaotic swirl of emotions churning within him, but it did little to ease the ache in his chest or the stinging behind his eyes.
"I… I didn't…" he managed to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper. But Gaius cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as if his son's attempt at explanation were nothing more than a bothersome noise.
"I've worked my entire life to build this family's reputation," Gaius continued, his voice dripping with bitterness. "And you—you have the audacity to throw it all away. Do you have any idea what this will do to us? What people will say? You're a disgrace, Ethan. A disgrace to this family."
The word disgrace hung heavily in the air, stabbing into Ethan like a physical blow. He felt his face flush with shame, his heart sinking under the weight of his father's condemnation. The accusation echoed in his mind, relentless, tearing at the fragile defenses he had spent years building up. He wanted to defend himself, to tell his father that this was who he was, that he couldn't change it, that he had tried so many times, but he knew it would be pointless. Nothing he could say would lessen his father's disgust.
A heavy silence settled over them once more, broken only by the sound of Gaius's harsh breathing. Ethan risked a glance up, meeting his father's cold, unyielding stare. The anger there was almost palpable, a searing, unforgiving heat that threatened to consume everything in its path. For a moment, Ethan thought he saw something else beneath the anger—disappointment, perhaps, or even a trace of hurt—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the hardened mask his father always wore.
His throat tightened, and he had to clench his jaw to keep the tears at bay. He would not cry—not in front of his father, not now. But the lump in his throat was relentless, and he could feel his composure slipping with each passing second.
"Say something, Ethan," Gaius demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"
Ethan looked down at his phone, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He could feel the tension building, the pressure of everything he had kept locked away for so long pressing against the surface, begging to be released. His father's words echoed in his mind, each one striking a different part of him, exposing every fear, every insecurity he had tried to bury.
"I…" His voice wavered, and he had to clear his throat to steady it. "I didn't want… I didn't want you to find out like this," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I was just… I was just trying to be who you wanted me to be."
Gaius let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Who I wanted you to be?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "Is that what you think this is about? That I somehow failed to make you understand what it means to carry this family's legacy?"
Ethan's grip on his phone tightened even further, and he felt a sharp crack as the screen splintered under the pressure. He looked down, watching as the fractured lines spread across the glass, each one a mirror of the fractures he felt inside. For a long moment, he simply stared at the broken screen, feeling the jagged edges of his own emotions reflected back at him. It was as if everything he had kept hidden, every carefully guarded secret, was now as shattered and exposed as the phone in his hand.
He finally lifted his gaze to his father, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with a quiet strength. "I never wanted to be a disgrace to you, Father. I tried. I tried so hard to be the son you expected, to keep up appearances, to uphold the name you've built." His voice faltered, the words trembling with suppressed emotion. "But this—who I am—it's not something I can change. It's not something I ever chose."
For a moment, Gaius's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He remained silent, his gaze cold and unforgiving, giving Ethan nothing to grasp onto, no glimmer of understanding or acceptance.
Ethan took a shaky breath, feeling a sudden surge of defiance rising within him, pushing back against the shame and guilt that had threatened to consume him. He was tired—tired of hiding, tired of pretending, tired of bending himself into shapes he was never meant to fit. "I'm done hiding, Father," he said, his voice growing firmer, though still edged with pain. "I can't keep sacrificing myself for a version of me that only exists in your head."
The silence that followed was profound, filled with the weight of unspoken words and shattered expectations. Gaius said nothing, his gaze hard and unrelenting, the distance between them widening with each heartbeat. But Ethan no longer felt the need to fill it.
For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to stand there as he was, without apology or pretense. The air between them was thick, the room steeped in a sense of finality. As he turned away, the broken phone clutched loosely in his hand, he felt a strange sense of liberation, painful but freeing, as if he were finally stepping out of the shadows he had lived in for so long.
And as he walked away, he knew that while the cost had been high, he had finally claimed something back for
himself. The silence left behind was hollow, but it was no longer his to fill.