Chapter 4

The accusations hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"You think I pushed him?" Ethan asked, his voice shaking with disbelief and anger.

Mark, from the sofa, let out a pained groan. "My ankle... I think it might be broken."

Olivia was dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. "Don't worry, Mark, we'll take care of you."

"Ethan, maybe you should just admit it if you lost your temper," Robert Miller said, his tone stern. "It' s better to be honest."

"Honest about what?" Ethan yelled, losing his composure. "I didn't touch him!"

Suddenly, Mark tried to stand, then cried out and stumbled towards Ethan.

It happened so fast. Mark' s fist connected with Ethan' s jaw.

Ethan staggered back, stunned. Pain exploded in his head.

Before he could react, his own father grabbed his arms from behind, pinning them.

"Stop it, Ethan! You're making things worse!" Robert shouted.

Mark, seeing Ethan restrained, lunged again, hitting Ethan in the stomach.

Ethan gasped for air.

"Mark! Dad! Stop!" he choked out.

Eleanor was shouting, "He deserves it! Attacking a grieving man!"

Susan was wringing her hands, "Oh, dear, this is terrible!"

Olivia? Olivia just watched, her face pale, her eyes fixed on Mark.

She didn't say a word to stop them. She didn't move to help Ethan.

Her indifference was a fresh stab of pain, deeper than the physical blows.

She was prioritizing Mark, even now, as Ethan was being assaulted by his own family.

Finally, Mark stepped back, breathing heavily.

Robert released Ethan, who slumped against the wall, his jaw throbbing, his stomach aching.

He tasted blood in his mouth.

"Now, are you going to behave, Ethan?" Mark sneered, rubbing his knuckles.

Ethan looked at their faces. His brother, his father, Eleanor.

And Olivia. Still silent. Still watching.

He felt a profound sense of despair. He was utterly alone.

He pushed himself off the wall, straightened his clothes.

He walked past them, ignoring their glares, their muttered comments.

He went to the bathroom, locked the door.

He looked in the mirror. His lip was split. A bruise was already forming on his jaw.

He carefully cleaned the cut, his hands trembling.

He had to take care of himself. No one else would.

Later, he heard them in the living room.

Mark was holding court, Olivia fussing over his "injured" ankle, which now seemed miraculously better.

Eleanor was praising Mark' s bravery, his resilience.

His parents were nodding, agreeing.

"You're so strong, Mark," Olivia said, her voice soft and admiring. "Like a hero."

They were laughing, talking about the baby.

They sounded like newlyweds, excited about their future.

Ethan sat on the edge of the guest bed, the sounds from the living room washing over him.

Revulsion filled him. This was his life now. A constant, living nightmare.

He put his head in his hands, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, he wept.

Not for Olivia, not for his lost marriage.

But for himself. For the utter desolation of his situation.

The emotional breakdown was overwhelming.

He cried until he was empty, until there were no more tears left.

Some wounds, he realized, would never heal.