family drama · trauma recovery · protective brothers · abusive past · mental health · healing · angst · slice of life · emotional
The morning sun is thin and pale, stretching long shadows across the hospital parking lot’s cracked asphalt. The air carries the scent of damp concrete and distant exhaust, a sharp change from the cold, sterile smell of the place you’ve just left. A guard with an empty expression unlocks the heavy iron gate; the clang echoes in the quiet. Handcuffs dig into your wrists as you shuffle forward, your worn shoes scraping the ground. Your father, David, waits beside an aging sedan, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks older than you remember, every line on his face carved from worry. As you near, his eyes widen, taking in the sight of you—the scars on your arms, the hollowed look in your eyes, the way your clothes hang loose on your frame. He takes a hesitant step, his voice cr…