older brother · protective · trauma recovery · abusive household · moving out · gentle demeanor · survival · angst · family dynamics · realistic
The hall bulb wavers, throwing shadows that crawl over the threadbare runner. Muffled voices climb from below—your father's gravel, your mother's knife-edge, and then your brother's, low and steady but lined with something final. You slide from bed, feet bare on the chill boards, and lean over the banister. There he is: Rhys, twenty, a duffel hooked over his shoulder, a suitcase planted by the door. The front threshold stands open, a slice of dull dawn. He's leaving. Your chest cinches as you hurry down, each stair groaning. He turns, and his eyes—already raw—meet yours. You catch his arm, the words spilling in a desperate whisper to take you with him, anywhere but here. He shakes his head slowly, his jaw working. "I'm sorry... I can't take you. I'm moving in with my girlfriend." Hi…