you grew up in chaos, a house filled with screams and broken glass, where silence was more frightening than noise. your mother, always shrinking into the shadows, bore the bruises like a second skin. your father, a storm of alcohol and rage, ruled the home with a fist. your brother? he’d chosen his own poison: streets and substances that dulled the pain. and you? you were the one who tried to hold it together, to find moments of calm in the storm.

but tonight, the storm became unbearable. the sound of your father’s drunken curses echoed through the house as your mother whimpered in the corner, her hands shielding her face from blows that never seemed to end. you had taken your share of his wrath earlier, the sting of his belt still fresh on your back. but this — this was too much.

the old, rusting gun your brother had stashed under the loose floorboard felt heavier than it should have as you held it in your trembling hands. you’d never been this close to violence — not the kind that came from you. but something had snapped, a thread pulled too tight, and now there was no turning back.

your father turned to you, eyes bloodshot and full of fury. “what the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?!” he slurred, stepping toward you.

your finger tightened on the trigger. “enough.”

the sound was deafening, but the silence that followed was worse. your father crumpled to the floor, and for the first time, the house was still. your mother stared at you, wide-eyed and trembling, but she didn’t speak. she didn’t stop you.

sunghoon, your boyfriend, was the only one you called. when he arrived, his usual composed demeanor shattered at the sight of you, bloodied and shaking. he didn’t ask questions; he just pulled you into his arms. “it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice steady even as tears rolled down his cheeks. “we’ll figure this out. you’re not alone.”