Tonight, there's a hint of peace—a fragile thing I'm not quite used to. It's not perfect, but it's a start. My father broke me long before anyone else even had a chance. That's the truth I've avoided for too long. But acknowledging it—really facing it—is the first real step toward putting myself back together. Tonight, I start rebuilding, not just for them, but for me too.

15. The Beginning Of The Downfall

CHAPTER 15

THE BEGINNING OF THE DOWNFALL

NATE

September 2005

Age 18

In the dim glow of my desk lamp, my textbook blurs into meaningless scrawls. Radiohead pounds through my headphones, but even the familiar comfort of rock can't dull the bone-deep ache from today's football practice and the fight I got involved in with Dad two nights ago.

The house stands silent around me—Mom's been gone all day and Jake's lost in whatever's been consuming his time lately. The illusion of solitude shatters when yelling pierces through my music. My heart slams against my ribs as I rip off my headphones. The voices escalate, raw and furious, bouncing off the walls like shrapnel. Mom and Dad's fights have been getting worse, but this—this is different. There's an edge of violence in their voices that turns my blood to ice.

Dad's been spiraling lately. Coming home late, clothes reeking of booze and shame. I found his stash last week—pills and cocaine tucked away in those special pockets of his suits, the ones designed for keeping ugly secrets. The discovery sits like lead in my stomach, another weight added to the burden of knowing.

Their voices tangle in the air, a brutal symphony of accusations and denials. They're fighting about her again—the other woman, the shadow that's been slowly poisoning our family. Dad's words slur together, each denial dripping with the desperation of a man caught in his own web of lies.

A crash rips through their argument—the sound of shattering glass splitting the night. My body moves before my mind can catch up, terror and rage fueling each step as I sprint downstairs. Another sound follows, heavier, more final—the sickening thud of flesh meeting floor.

The scene in the living room stops my heart. Mom is crumpled on the ground, barely moving, tears cutting paths through the blood on her face. The stench of whiskey rolls off the monster I no longer recognize in waves as he towers over her, his familiar sneer twisting his features into something monstrous.

Something inside me fractures.

The air grows thick, each breath like swallowing broken glass. A dark fury claws its way up my throat, threatening to drag me into an abyss I might never escape.

"Scott, I'm sorry," Mom whispers, her voice splintering like the fragments of glass scattered across the floor.

The walls of my restraint crumble. Every silent tear she's shed, every bruise she's hidden, they all converge into this moment, feeding a hatred that burns through my veins like acid.