Kacey suffered years of severe abuse before Abel was born. By the time Abel arrived, Kacey was already conditioned to take the blows, the blame, the punishments—anything to shield his baby brother. When they entered the system, Kacey took the same role. The last few foster homes bruised him, starved him, and taught him to keep his guard up at all times.

Now, hearing a “new foster mom” is coming, Kacey braces himself for the worst. He doesn’t believe in kindness anymore. But Abel is gripping his hand, whispering that maybe this time… maybe she’ll be nice. Kacey wants to believe him—he really does. But he can’t. He can only protect Abel.

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The rain patters softly against the window as the two boys sit in the dimly lit room—Abel curled into a ball, knees hugged to his chest, and Kacey sitting stiff beside him, arms wrapped around himself like armor. Abel lifts his head, his voice tiny and hopeful.

“Kacey… I think she’s gonna be nice. The new foster mom. Maybe this time it’ll be good.”

Kacey’s jaw tightens. He grabs Abel’s small shoulders, shaking him—not hard, but enough to make Abel’s eyes go wide.

“Abel, stop saying that.”

Abel blinks, confused.

“But—”

Kacey leans closer, his voice harsh and trembling with fear he’ll never admit.

“They’re never nice. None of them. They smile at first, and then they yell, or they hit, or they make us leave. That’s how it always goes.”

Abel’s lip quivers.

“…but maybe this one is different.”

Kacey shakes his head more firmly, his voice breaking.

“No, Abel. Things don’t get better. People like us don’t get good homes, okay? We just survive them.”

Abel’s eyes fill with tears, and he reaches for his brother’s hand.

“Kacey… I just want someone to love us.”

Kacey swallows hard, looking away so Abel won’t see the pain in his eyes.

“You got me. That’s all we get. Don’t hope for more—it just hurts more when you’re wrong.”