In the Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 2

Bryson stood motionless at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house that had haunted his memories for years. His legs felt heavy, rooted in the cracked concrete like he was a kid again, afraid to come home. The overgrown lawn, the peeling paint on the porch, the broken windowpane in the corner—it was all the same, as if time had frozen the moment he left. The years of training and the distance, couldn't compare to the battlefield that lay behind that front door.

He clenched his fists, willing his body to move forward, but the weight of the past kept him glued to the spot. Inside that house was the man who had destroyed everything good about his childhood, who had broken him down so completely that for years, he'd believed he was worthless. But now, he wasn't that boy anymore. He was a man, a soldier, and he had come here for a reason.

As he took a tentative step forward, a memory flashed—his father, towering over him, yelling, "You think you're tough? You think you're worth anything?" Bryson had been small then, too small to fight back. But not anymore. He had made sure of that.

He reached the bottom of the porch steps and paused, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound of shuffling feet and muffled voices inside caught him off guard. He hadn't expected any noise. His father wasn't supposed to be happy. He wasn't supposed to have a life that looked normal. Bryson's fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

For a moment, he considered leaving. What would confronting him even accomplish? Would it change anything? Would it erase the years of pain, the sleepless nights filled with anger and regret?

But then he remembered why he came. This wasn't just for him—it was for the boy he used to be, the one who had been beaten down and never stood a chance. This confrontation wasn't about getting answers or seeking some kind of twisted closure. It was about reclaiming control, taking back what his father had stolen from him all those years ago. His sense of worth, his pride, his ability to fight back.

He took another step forward, but before he could knock, the door swung open. His father stood there, staring at him with an expression that was hard to read. Time had weathered him—gray streaks ran through his hair, and lines creased his face, but his build was still solid, his presence still commanding. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Bryson," his father said, his voice low and rough. He didn't sound surprised, but he didn't sound welcoming either.

Bryson swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah. It's me."

His father stared at him for a long moment, the tension between them palpable. Bryson's heart hammered in his chest. He hadn't been sure what to expect from this moment—anger, confrontation, maybe even an apology—but standing here now, the reality was suffocating.

"What do you want?" his father finally asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Bryson's jaw tightened. "I came to talk."

His father raised an eyebrow, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Talk? After all these years?"

"Yeah," Bryson said, crossing his arms over his chest. "After all these years."

His father's eyes flicked up and down, assessing him, but his expression remained unreadable. "You look different. Stronger."

"I am different," Bryson shot back. "I'm not the kid you used to beat around."

His father's gaze sharpened, the smile fading. "That's what this is about? You came here to drag up the past?"

Bryson's anger flared. "The past? You think it's just the past? You ruined everything. You beat me down until I believed I was nothing."

His father's face hardened. "I did what I had to do. You think the world's easy? I made you tough. And look at you now—a soldier. You wouldn't have made it if I hadn't pushed you."

"Tough?" Bryson scoffed. "You didn't make me tough. You made me hate myself. You made me feel like I was never good enough. That's not pushing someone—that's breaking them."

His father's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stood there, arms crossed, waiting. As if Bryson's words didn't matter. As if nothing he said would ever make a difference.

Bryson's chest heaved with frustration, but instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath. He wasn't here to change his father. That was never going to happen. He was here to free himself.

"I'm not doing this for you," Bryson said, his voice steady. "I'm doing it for me. So I can walk away and never look back."

His father's mouth twitched, but he didn't respond. He looked at Bryson as if waiting for him to crumble, to give up on whatever this was. But Bryson didn't move. The moment stretched on, and he realized that this was it. He wasn't going to get the apology or acknowledgment he thought he wanted. But maybe that was okay.

Without another word, Bryson turned and walked back down the porch steps. He didn't need anything from this man anymore. As he walked toward his car, he felt lighter, as if a burden he had carried for years was finally starting to lift.

Across town, Ava sat in the café, staring at the coffee cup in front of her. She had been sitting there for over an hour, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn't seem to quiet. It was rare for her to have a moment of peace like this, away from her family, away from the endless responsibilities that seemed to pile up every day.

But even now, with the soft hum of the café around her and the quiet clinking of cups, her mind wouldn't rest. She kept thinking about her father, the man who had left years ago and never looked back. She didn't know where he was now, or if he even thought about her. Sometimes, she wondered what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Would she confront him? Would she tell him how much he had hurt her and their family?

Or would she walk away, just like he had?

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She didn't want to be like him, didn't want to leave the people she loved behind. But sometimes, the weight of everything made her wonder how long she could keep going. How long she could keep pretending to be strong.

Ava took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth fill her. She didn't have all the answers, but for now, this moment of quiet was enough.