The Foster House was full of life, with twenty boys ranging from fifteen to twenty-four years old. Though they all came from different backgrounds, most of the boys had managed to form a close-knit group, looking out for each other and working together like a family. However, there were two boys who didn't quite fit in: Michael, 18, and his younger brother, Andrew, 15.
Michael and Andrew kept to themselves, often seen sitting apart from the others, speaking in hushed tones. Michael was strong, fiercely protective of his younger brother, and quick to step in if anyone even looked at Andrew the wrong way. Andrew, on the other hand, was a quiet, gentle soul—brilliant in his studies but shy and easily frightened. He rarely spoke up, and when he did, it was usually to ask a question or apologize, even when he hadn't done anything wrong.
The rest of the boys noticed the brothers' isolation and took advantage of it. They saw Andrew's quiet nature as a weakness, and while they mostly left Michael alone, they often bullied Andrew. Sometimes it was subtle—taking his things when he wasn't looking, making snide comments under their breath. Other times, it was more direct, shoving him in the hallway or making him do extra chores. Andrew, too afraid to stand up for himself, never complained.
The other boys, led by the eldest, Daniel and Jacob, were a tight group. They looked out for each other, worked together, and enjoyed a sense of camaraderie that made their situation bearable. But for reasons they couldn't quite explain, Michael and Andrew seemed like outsiders to them—different, and not in a way they could easily accept.
One afternoon, after a particularly rough day at school, Andrew came back to the house with a new bruise on his arm. He had been cornered by a few of the boys outside, who had pushed him around and taken his lunch money. Andrew had managed to keep it together until he got inside, but once in the safety of his shared room with Michael, he let the tears flow.
Michael noticed the bruise immediately. His face darkened with anger as he knelt beside his brother, his voice a low, protective growl. "Who did this to you, Andrew?"
Andrew hesitated, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't want to make things worse by telling Michael, but he couldn't lie to his brother. "It was Lucas and Mason," he whispered. "But it's okay, Michael, really. I'm fine."
"It's not fine," Michael snapped, standing up and pacing the room. "They have no right to treat you like that. You're my brother, and I'm not going to let them hurt you."
Andrew grabbed Michael's arm, trying to calm him down. "Please, don't do anything. I don't want any more trouble."
Michael stopped pacing and looked down at his brother, his expression softening. "I won't let them get away with this, Andrew. You deserve better."
But even as he said it, Michael knew that confronting the other boys would only make things worse. The house was divided, and he and Andrew were on the outside. No matter what he did, the other boys wouldn't accept them. They were alone in this, and that was a hard truth to swallow.
To be continued _____________________________
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