Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

30 Travis's POV

It was a quiet night in our house. Too quiet, sometimes. I could hear the hum of the heating kicking in, the faint rustle of Taylor shifting under her weighted blanket, which had practically become her armor, the only thing that seemed to offer her any real comfort anymore. She always has it wrapped tightly around her, like it's the one barrier that can keep everything — the nightmares, the memories, the fear — at bay. I'd give anything to be able to do for her what that blanket does. To make her feel safe again.

Taylor's breathing is steady beside me. She's been sleeping better lately, though I know that could change at any moment. Every night, I hope that maybe this time, she'll wake up rested, feeling even a fraction better. But more often than not, the fear and exhaustion return as soon as her eyes open.

Just as I start to drift off, thinking about how we're getting through this, how we'll keep going, I hear it — Leo's soft sobs from his room. My heart clenches instantly.

Not again.

It's the third time this week. My chest tightens at the sound of his cry, and I slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Taylor. She needs the sleep — God, does she need the sleep. I pull on a t-shirt and walk down the hallway toward Leo's room, the faint glow of his nightlight casting soft shadows along the floor.

His door is ajar, and I push it open gently, peeking in. He's sitting up in bed, his small body shaking as he clutches his stuffed dinosaur, his face streaked with tears. It breaks me every time I see him like this. Leo's always been sensitive, but now... now it's different. The nightmares aren't just from an overactive imagination. They're rooted in things no child should ever have to remember.

"Hey, buddy," I whisper, walking over and sitting on the edge of his bed. "What's going on? Another bad dream?"

Leo nods, his lip trembling, and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. He's only five, but sometimes when he looks at me, it feels like he's older, like he's carrying more weight than any kid his age should have to. It's a weight he shouldn't even understand.

I pull him into my arms, rubbing his back gently, trying to calm him down. "It's okay, Leo. It was just a dream, bud. You're safe now. I've got you."

He sniffles and buries his face into my chest, holding onto me tight. I sit there with him for a few minutes, waiting for his breathing to slow, but I can tell something's still bothering him. His small hands grip my shirt like he's holding on for dear life.

"Daddy," he whispers, his voice shaky. "It... it wasn't just a dream. It... it was like before. In the bad place."

My heart stops. My stomach knots up instantly, and I'm filled with this overwhelming sense of dread. Leo had never really talked about it. Neither had Taylor. Not in detail. I knew what happened — well, as much as Taylor could bear to tell me. But hearing it from Leo? It's like a punch to the gut I wasn't prepared for.

"What do you mean, buddy?" I ask softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "What was in your dream?"

He pulls back slightly, looking up at me with wide, teary eyes, his face full of confusion and fear. "I was pretending to be asleep, like you told me to, but I heard them yelling at Mommy. They were so mad at her. They were... they were hurting her."

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I feel my pulse quicken. Jesus Christ.

"They put their hands around her neck," he continues, his voice trembling. "And they yelled at her... they said she wasn't good enough to live. They said they should just... just kill her. But then they didn't, and I helped Mommy into bed. I cuddled with her so she wouldn't be alone."

He starts to cry harder, his small body shaking in my arms, and I feel like the floor's been ripped out from under me. My son, my five-year-old boy, just described something I can't even fully comprehend, something I can barely stomach. The idea that he had to witness any of that...