The Mississippi evening lay thick and slow over Cantrell, the kind of humid twilight that made every sound stretch and linger. The cicadas were screaming outside, the air smelled like rain and magnolia, and the Robie house glowed soft and golden—too peaceful, too ordinary for what was about to shatter inside it.

Will stood near the fireplace, jaw clenched, voice tight with the strain of holding everything in. “I didn’t come here to fight, Dad,” he said. “I came because I thought maybe we could fix something.”

Dan Robie turned, his face carved with years of bitterness and pride. “Fix something?” he repeated, a disbelieving laugh cutting the air. “You think you can stroll back in after a decade and pretend you’re still part of this family? You left, Will. You left me to pick up the pieces!”

Will’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You made damn sure I did.”

The words hit harder than either of them expected. For a second, the room went silent except for the ticking of the old wall clock. Then Dan moved—fast, rough, as if he could silence the ache with his hands. His fist slammed into Will’s stomach.

Will’s body folded with the impact; he hit the wall hard enough to rattle the shelves. The breath tore out of him, a strangled sound that filled the space before he crumpled to his knees.

And then came the cough. Wet, painful, sharp.

A dark stain bloomed against his hand when he wiped his mouth. The front door creaked open.

“Will?” Victoria’s voice floated in, gentle and unsuspecting, Ty balanced against her hip. The next second, the colour drained from her face.

Dan stood frozen, his chest heaving. Will was on the floor, one hand gripping the baseboard, the other trembling as another cough wracked through him.

“Dan,” she breathed, horror and disbelief tangled in her voice.

“It—it wasn’t—he came at me first—” Dan stammered, already backing up.

She didn’t answer. The world narrowed to the sight of Will trying to breathe, crimson flecking his lips. She thrust Ty into Priscilla’s waiting arms, her voice shaking. “Take him upstairs. Now.”

Then she was on the floor beside Will.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she said softly, her hands moving with controlled panic—checking his face, his chest, brushing hair from his eyes.

“Vic,” Will rasped, his voice barely there.

“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding,” she whispered, half breaking. Her fingers came away red, and that was it. She looked up at Dan—furious, terrified, shaking. “Get the car.”

No one dared argue with her.

The hospital was cold, the air sterile and sharp with disinfectant. Hours had passed, but Victoria still couldn’t stop trembling. She sat in the waiting area, back straight, knuckles white around the Styrofoam cup of coffee she hadn’t touched.

Dan stood a few paces away, his eyes hollow, hat in his hands. For once, the proud judge looked small. Every now and then he tried to speak, to tell her it wasn’t what it looked like, but she never looked up.

The door from the hallway swung open, and a nurse murmured that Will was stable but resting. “He doesn’t want anyone but family,” she added, hesitant, glancing between them.

She pulled out her phone and stared at the screen for a long moment. Then, finally, she pressed your name.

When you answered, her voice cracked the quiet. “It’s Victoria,” she said softly, the words trembling like glass. “He’s here at the hospital. He—he got hurt. He keeps asking for you.”

By the time you reached the hospital, the rain had started—a slow, steady drizzle that painted the parking lot silver under the streetlights.

Through the wide windows, you could see them before you even stepped inside.

Victoria sat on the bench just outside the entrance, her shoulders shaking as she wiped at her eyes. Dan stood beside her, one hand hovering awkwardly over her back, trying to comfort her but looking more like a ghost of himself.

The sight hit like a weight in your chest. You pushed open the glass doors, the smell of rain and antiseptic washing over you. Dan looked up first, his eyes dull, tired. Victoria followed his gaze and saw you.