Really, Us Again

Keifer learned early that silence could be loud.

It was the kind of night that should have been ordinary-no storms, no warnings, no signs that a life was about to split in two. The house was dim, the air heavy with words that had already been said too many times. His mother had spoken softly. His father had not.

Keifer was sixteen.

Old enough to understand fear.
Too young to understand why love could turn violent.

He remembers the sound most.

Not the scream.
Not the chaos.

But the moment after.

The unbearable quiet that followed-thick, choking, permanent.

His father's voice trembled as if regret could undo what had already been done. His mother lay still, eyes open, staring past everything she had loved. And Keifer stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe, watching the world take something it would never return.

In that moment, childhood ended.

Responsibility arrived like a sentence.

There was no time to grieve. No space to fall apart. By morning, the house needed managing. Bills needed paying. Doors needed locking. A family needed a man-and somehow, that man became him.

Keifer buried the boy he was alongside the woman he loved most.

Years later, people would call him strong.
Reliable.
Cold.

They would never know that strength was not a choice-it was survival.

And then, one day, long after the blood had been scrubbed from the floor and the memory locked behind his ribs, Jay would walk into his life with laughter in her voice and freedom in her steps.

She would not know it yet.

But loving her would be the most dangerous thing he would ever do.

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