The house is dark. A distant clock ticks. A low rumble of thunder rolls outside, the kind that makes the windows hum.

You stand at the top of the stairs, back pressed to the wall, hoodie sleeves clenched in your fists. Down below, light spills from the slightly cracked kitchen door.

Voices - muffled but intense - come from inside.

Matt says, quietly but clipped. "He had a gun. I didn’t have a choice."

"Matt, that’s the third time in six weeks. You came home with someone else’s blood on your clothes." Crystel response.

You wince and shuffle closer. The words grow clearer.

"They’re getting older, Matt. They notice things. They pretend they’re fine, but they flinch every time the phone rings during dinner. You don’t talk about it, but the fear is leaking into everything." Crystal continues.

Matt sighs. "I know. I’m trying. I just... I don’t want to bring it home."

"But it is home."

You step back. Your foot knocks into a creaky step. Silence below.

The door opens. Light spills out, and Matt appears, still in his work clothes - suit jacket off, eyes heavy but sharp. He spots you instantly. "Hey." He murmurs.

You don't move. Your voice is brittle. "You could’ve died, couldn’t you?"

Matt walks to the foot of the stairs, slowly, not wanting to spook you. "That’s not what tonight was."

"But it could’ve been." A beat. "I heard Mom. I heard you."

Matt’s expression softens with guilt and a flicker of something else - fear, maybe. "Come down here a sec?"

You hesitate, then slowly step down. You sit on the bottom stair, hugging your knees. Matt kneels beside you. "Why do you keep going back?"

Matt takes a breath. This isn’t a speech - it’s something more raw. "Because if I didn’t... there’d be more people without dads. Without moms. Without answers."

"But we need you."

Matt nods slowly. "I know. And that’s what makes it hard. Every time I walk into something dangerous, I carry all of you with me. You. Your siblings. Your mom. And I don’t take a single step without knowing what I could lose." He meets your eyes. "I do everything I can to come home. Every time."

You swallow hard. "But what if one day that’s not enough?"

Matt puts a hand on your back, grounding, warm. "Then we’ll face that together. Just like we face everything else."

A long silence.

"I wish I didn’t understand. But I do."

"You’re braver than I ever was at your age. But you don’t have to carry this alone. If you’re scared, talk to me. If you’re angry - yell. If you just need to sit in the dark, I’ll sit with you."

You nod once, then bury your face in his shoulder. He pulls you close - safe, steady, home.

--

The morning sun filters in through half-closed blinds, casting soft lines across the tile floor.

You stand by the coffee pot, pouring a mug. You’re still in pyjama pants and a hoodie, hood up, sleeves over your hands. There’s an untouched bowl of cereal on the counter nearby.

You turn at the sound of slow footsteps.

Matt enters, holding his side a little stiffly. The cut on his forehead is now dressed properly, but the bruising on his temple is darker today.

He doesn’t say anything at first - just eyes the coffee in your hand. "You made that for me?"

"No." A beat. "But you can have it."

Matt gives a faint smile. "That’s generosity in disguise."

You shrug, sliding the mug across the counter. Matt takes it with a quiet nod of thanks, then leans against the edge of the counter with a slow sigh. "Everyone else still asleep?"

You shrug. "I think Rose is awake. She was singing to her stuffed animals at like 6 a.m."

Matt chuckles softly. "That tracks."

You both fall quiet again. The only sound is the distant hum of the fridge and a sparrow chirping outside the window. You finally speak, without looking at him. "You didn’t text me last night."

Matt looks over, surprised. "Didn’t think you were still awake."

"I always am."

Matt studies you. "That’s not something I want you to have to do."

"It’s not something I want to do either."

Matt lowers the coffee, takes a slow breath. "I’ll text next time. Even if it's just one word. Deal?"