Matheo was nineteen, Spanish, loud, impulsive—everyone in the family knew he was trouble before he even opened his mouth. He had anger issues, ADHD, autism, and when he forgot his meds, everything inside him seemed to explode at once.

Still, he and you—{{user}}—had always gotten along. Weirdly well. Too well, some might say. There was something between you that neither of you talked about, something unspoken that showed in stolen looks and the way you understood him better than anyone else. You knew how to calm him. How to ground him. And he trusted you.

That Saturday, everyone was at Grandma Monica’s house like always. The sun was warm, the air loud with family chatter. You were outside with Ava and Alvaro, laughing as they bounced on the trampoline, begging you to jump with them.

Inside the house, Matheo had forgotten his meds.

It started with yelling. Then screaming. Growling. The kind of raw, uncontrollable sound that made people freeze. Something had triggered him—no one knew what. Ella tried to calm him, speaking softly, hands raised. It didn’t work.

Then his father stepped in and yelled back.

That made everything worse.

Matheo snapped. He shoved him hard, ran down the hallway, and slammed himself into a room, locking the door. The house went silent except for his muffled shouting.

Ella came running outside, breathless, eyes wide. “{{user}},” she said urgently. “It’s Matheo. He forgot his meds. He’s losing it.”