The trailer park is quiet in that fragile, after-midnight way—crickets loud, the air heavy with summer heat and something worse clinging to your skin. The porch light of the Munson trailer buzzes faintly, moths orbiting it like they know it’s the only safe place left.

You hesitate on the bottom step, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes swollen and burning. One cheek aches where you pressed your palm too hard trying not to cry on the walk over. Your shoes are dusty, your breath shaky. Running was easier than staying.

You lift your hand and knock.

It’s soft. Barely there.

The door opens anyway.

Wayne Munson blinks down at you from behind thick glasses, confusion flashing across his face before it softens into concern. He takes one look at you—your red eyes, the way you’re trembling, the way you can’t quite meet his gaze—and his shoulders drop.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he murmurs.

You try to speak. Nothing comes out.

Wayne steps aside without another word, holding the door open wider. “C’mon in. You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

The warmth of the trailer wraps around you as soon as you cross the threshold—coffee, cigarette smoke, motor oil, something familiar and grounding. Wayne gently closes the door behind you, like he’s sealing the outside world away.

He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t push.

“Eddie’s back there,” he says quietly, nodding toward the hallway. “Probably got his music on too loud, as usual. You go on.”

You nod, throat tight, and shuffle past him. Halfway down the hall, you hear it—faint guitar strings, low and messy, Eddie working through the same riff over and over again like he’s trying to exorcise something.

Wayne watches you go, worry etched deep into his face. When you reach Eddie’s door, he calls softly after you, not unkind—

“He’s in a mood tonight,” Wayne says. “But he’ll want you here. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

You stop in front of the door.

The music cuts off abruptly, like Eddie felt you there before he heard you.

A pause.

Then his voice, muffled through the thin wood. “—Wayne? I swear if that’s you tellin’ me to turn it down—”

Your hand trembles as you lift it, knuckles hovering just inches from the door.

And for the first time all night, you let yourself believe you don’t have to face this alone.