"Who are you? Where is my son?"
Killian's father stared at me, his eyes red and bloodshot. His voice trembled with every word, and his hands would not stop shaking. Instead of answering, I simply held his gaze. Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
The longer I stared, the more uncomfortable he became. Sweat began to bead on his forehead despite the chill in the air. "W-What?" he stuttered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Do you even hear what you're saying? You keep asking the same question over and over. Who am I? Where is your son? Tell me, who do you think is standing in front of you right now?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I took a step forward. "When I woke up, I was already inside this body. Your son's body. So, stop asking where he is."
The color drained from his face. "N-No..." he whispered.
"Whether his soul disappeared, died, or moved on, I don't know. But one thing is certain," I said, pointing at myself. "I am not the son you knew."
His breathing became ragged. "No..." he repeated. I watched him quietly. Humans were always like this—they demanded the truth, but when it was placed directly in front of them, they refused to accept it.
"You killed your son."
The words left my mouth without hesitation. His eyes widened in horror. "I didn't!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the small, cramped room. "How dare you say that?!"
I laughed—not because it was funny, but because it was pathetic. The sound made him flinch. Before he could speak again, I grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him closer. His body trembled against my grip.
"Do you really want me to explain it to you?" I asked quietly.
"W-What are you talking about?"
I tightened my hold. "If I wasn't here today, what do you think would have happened to your son? Do you think he would have magically survived? Do you think years of neglect, hunger, fear, and suffering would just suddenly disappear?"
"I..." he muttered.
"You broke him. You failed him," I continued, pressing the advantage as he looked away. "You made him believe he was alone. You made him work when he should have been studying. You made him suffer while you wasted your life."
"Stop..." he begged.
"Please..."
My eyes narrowed. "No."
Tears began to spill from his eyes. For the first time since I met him, he looked small—pathetic, weak, and broken. The image of a father who should have protected his family was nowhere to be seen; all I saw was a man running from his own reflection.
Suddenly, he collapsed onto his knees, his shoulders shaking violently. "I'm sorry..." his voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry, son..."
He began to cry loudly, the sound filling the room. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough times could erase the years of ruin.
Tsk. Humans. Always apologizing after everything was already destroyed. I crossed my arms and watched him weep. Part of me wanted to kick him; another part wanted to drag him outside and force him to experience every bit of suffering his son had endured. But that would solve nothing. The family was already broken, and if I wanted to live peacefully in this body, I needed to fix it. Unfortunately, fixing it meant fixing him.
After several minutes, his sobbing slowed. He remained on the floor, breathing heavily, until I finally spoke.
"Listen carefully."
He looked up, fear pooling in his eyes. Good. At least he was paying attention.
"From now on, things will change. You will work."
His eyebrows rose. "W-Work?"
"Yes. You are the father. Act like one."
"But I—"
"I am not finished," I cut him off. He immediately fell silent. "I will return to school. This body belongs to a child who should have been studying, not working himself to death."
He lowered his head, shame coloring his face.
"You will earn money," I continued.
"But what if—"
I glared at him, and the words died in his throat.
"No buts," I snapped. "You will support this family. You will provide food. You will pay the bills. And you will never force me to work again."
"I understand," he whispered.
I crouched down until we were eye level. "If you fail... if you drink away your money... if you neglect your responsibilities..." I let the threats hang in the air as he broke into a cold sweat. Then, I smiled. It wasn't a warm smile; it was the kind that made the skin crawl. "Then I will kill you."
His entire body froze. I looked directly into his eyes. "To be honest, dying would be better than living as a useless father."
His face turned ghostly pale. For a moment, I thought he might faint. Good. Fear was useful. Fear made people move, and right now, this man needed fear more than kindness.
I stood up and walked toward the door. Behind me, I could still hear him quietly sobbing, but I didn't care. The old Killian might have forgiven him, and the old Killian might have accepted his excuses. But I wasn't Killian.
I would make sure this man fulfilled his responsibilities—one way or another. Even if I had to drag him toward redemption myself.
******
"I'm sorry, but we can't forgive you."
My voice trembled as I looked at Dad kneeling on the floor. "We can't forgive what you've done to us... especially what you did to Brother." The moment I said those words, the memories I had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. I remembered every night Brother cried when he thought nobody was watching; I remembered him coming home exhausted after working all day; I remembered the bruises, the hunger, and the constant, gnawing fear. Most of all, I remembered how he always smiled in front of us, even when he was suffering the most.
My vision blurred, and tears filled my eyes. No matter how much time passed, I couldn't forget those moments; they were carved into my heart. I slowly turned toward Craige—or perhaps I should call him the person living inside Brother's body. No matter how kind he had been to us recently, there were things he could never understand.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you bring Dad back?"
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at me, but I only had eyes for the stranger in my brother's skin. I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. "Do you know what we went through while he was here? You don't know anything."
My chest felt tight, and every painful memory I had held back for years began to spill out. "When he came home drunk, we were scared," I said, my voice cracking. "When he got angry, we hid. When he shouted, we couldn't sleep. When he spent all our money, we went hungry."
Dad lowered his head even further, but I didn't care. For years, he never cared about our tears; why should I care about his now? I pointed at him, my hand shaking violently. "You know what I remember the most? Brother. Every time there wasn't enough food, he would tell us he wasn't hungry, but I knew he was lying. He always gave us his portion. He always protected us. He carried everything by himself—he worked when he should have been studying, and he suffered because of him."
I pointed at Dad again, then looked directly at Craige. For the first time since meeting him, I felt truly angry. "Do you know how much trauma he gave us? Do you know how scared I am every time I see him?" I hugged myself, my body shivering. Just seeing Dad standing in this house made my heart race, dragging me back to those terrible nights when I wished someone would save us—when I wished Brother would stop sacrificing himself. But nobody came. Nobody helped us. Not until Brother changed. Not until Craige appeared.
Craige finally opened his mouth. "I'm trying to fix this family—"
"SHUT UP!" The words exploded from my mouth before I could stop them. "You don't know anything! We don't want to see him! We don't want him here!"
My breathing became erratic as the tears flowed uncontrollably. "We're tired! We're so tired of hoping he'll change! For years we waited—we waited for him to become a good father, to stop hurting us! But nothing changed!"
I fell to my knees. The pain I had buried for years finally shattered the surface. I couldn't stop crying; I couldn't stop shaking. Everything hurt—my chest, my heart, my memories.
Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around me. I froze. It was Craige, pulling me against his chest. At first, I wanted to push him away, but I was too exhausted, too broken. I simply cried. Beside me, Lory's composure shattered, and she ran toward us, sobbing. Before long, all three of us were huddled together, the room filled with the sound of our collective breaking. Dad remained on the floor, his face wet with tears, but nobody looked at him. Nobody comforted him. For once, he had to face the consequences of his actions alone.
Craige tightened his arms around us, his embrace warm, steady, and protective. For a moment, the world went quiet.
"Don't worry," he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise. "I'm here." I felt his hand gently pat my head. "You don't have to carry everything by yourselves anymore. I know I don't understand everything. I don't know what your lives were like before, or every painful thing you've experienced." For a moment, genuine guilt flickered in his eyes. "But I know you've suffered, and I know you've been carrying that pain alone for far too long."
Neither Lory nor I spoke; we simply listened.
"I can't erase the past," he continued, his voice firm. "I can't erase your trauma. I can't erase your memories. But I can make sure nobody hurts you again. I promise." His voice cracked with a rare hint of raw emotion. "As long as I'm here, nobody will hurt either of you. Not even him."
Dad flinched at the words.
"I don't care what I have to do," Craige said, the air in the room turning heavy. "I will protect both of you. And I will fix this family."
His eyes were serious—not with the hollow weight of an adult's empty promise, but with a terrifying, absolute sincerity. "If your father wants to stay here, he will earn that right. He will work. He will take responsibility." A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he looked at Dad. "And if he ever hurts either of you again... I'll make sure he regrets it."
The room went deathly silent. Everyone knew he wasn't joking.
For the first time in years, I felt something I had long forgotten: safety. The future was still uncertain, and the scars of the past hadn't vanished. But as Craige continued to hold me and Lory close, I found myself wanting to believe him. Just this once, I wanted to believe that things could finally change.