The Hale household had long since turned into a battlefield. Not the kind with swords and shields, but one where every word was a blade and every silence was a gunshot.
The night was sticky with heat, the ceiling fan groaning uselessly as it moved the same stale air in circles. Sarah sat slouched on the faded couch, her hands shaking as she dipped a glass tube into a small bag of powder. The hiss of a lighter followed, then a long, greedy inhale. She closed her eyes, letting her head tilt back against the wall as the bitter-sweet rush hit her veins. Her escape. Her demon. Her love and her prison. The front door slammed open so hard the hinges screamed.
"Sarah!" Hale's voice filled the house before his body stumbled into view. He smelled of cheap whiskey and old tobacco, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his eyes glassy. His gait was crooked, one shoulder bumping the doorway as he fought for balance.
Sarah didn't move, not at first. She cracked one eye open, exhaled a lazy cloud, and muttered, "Jesus Christ, Hale. Not again."
Hale grinned, that lopsided smile of a man who thought he was charming even when he reeked of failure. He staggered closer, leaning on the doorframe. "C'mon, babe… don't start. I just..." His words slurred. "I just need a little love tonight. You know? Just you and me, like the old days."
Sarah sat up sharply, her high instantly soured. She pushed her greasy hair back, glaring. "The old days? The old days you mean when you weren't a drunk, useless bastard gambling away every cent we had? Those days?"
Hale ignored the sting, lurching forward, trying to cup her face. She shoved his hands away. "Don't touch me, Hale. You stink. You're fucking drunk."
He stumbled back, more wounded by her tone than her shove. "I'm your husband, Sarah. Don't forget that. And a husband deserves his wife."
She barked a laugh, bitter as bile. "Deserves? You don't deserve shit. You think I owe you my body after you've pissed away our lives? After you leave me here with two kids crying their lungs out while you drink yourself half to death?"
"Kids," Hale sneered, his voice sharp suddenly. "Always about the damn kids. What about me, huh? What about what I need? Don't I matter?"
Sarah's lip curled. "You matter about as much as the shit under my shoe." That cut him deep. His face twisted, half anger, half despair. He stepped toward her again, this time more forceful, grabbing her wrist. "Don't talk to me like that, woman."
Sarah ripped her hand free and shoved him hard in the chest. He fell backward into a chair, knocking over a glass bottle that shattered on the floor. "Fuck you, Hale!" she spat, standing over him. "You think you scare me? You're pathetic. A sad, weak man drowning in liquor because you can't handle the world. Look at you....your son has more balls than you ever did."
Hale's hand twitched, as if tempted to strike her, but he didn't. Maybe he couldn't. He slumped back in the chair, head in his hands. "Don't… don't say that, Sarah. Don't drag the kids into this."
"They're already in it, you fool!" Sarah roared. "Peter raises Jeromy more than you do. He's eight years old and he's more of a man than you. That boy starves himself so his baby brother eats, while you crawl to that den to throw away what little we have."
Hale's eyes glazed with shame. He wanted to defend himself, to explain, but there was nothing to say. His silence was an admission of guilt.
The house was thick with their shouting, but then silence fell. Not the natural silence of words running out, but the unnatural hush that comes before something darker.
The door creaked again. Slow—Heavy.
Sarah turned her head toward the sound, her chest tightening. Hale looked up, his stomach sinking. And then all of a sudden Cater Di'armore appears. The predator of the town. The man whose shadow stretched longer than the streetlights. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his suit immaculate despite the hour, black hair slicked back, and eyes like ice carved from hell itself. Behind him, two of his men entered—hulking shapes in dark coats, silent as wolves. Hale's heart stopped. His throat went dry.
"Evening," Cater's voice was smooth, calm, like poison poured into honey. "What a lovely home you have here." Sarah froze, confusion flooding her face. "Who the fuck...?"
"Shut up," Hale snapped in panic. His hands trembled. "Sarah, please… just… just don't say anything."
Cater stepped further inside, clapping his hands once. His men closed the door, sealing them in. "You know why I'm here, Mr. Hale." Hale tried to stand, wobbling. "Cater, listen… I—I can explain..."
Cater didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He simply nodded. One of his men stepped forward and punched Hale across the jaw. Hale crashed into the table, blood spilling from his lip.
Sarah screamed, backing up against the wall. "What the fuck! What is this?!" Cater turned his gaze to her, polite but cold. "Business, Mrs. Hale. Your husband owes me quite a fortune. He's been avoiding my generosity for far too long."
"I—I didn't know!" Sarah pretended, her hands trembling. "I've got nothing to do with his debts. Leave me the fuck out of this!"
"Oh, but you do," Cater replied smoothly. "When a man fails to uphold his obligations, his family becomes the collateral. That's the rule of life, sweetheart."
Hale staggered to his feet, spitting blood. "No! Don't you dare talk about my family like that. This is between me and you, Cater. Leave Sarah out of it. Leave my kids out of it!"
Cater tilted his head, almost amused. "Your kids. Cute little things. Shame they have a father who can't keep his hands off my tables."
"Don't!" Hale shouted, lunging forward. His bravery was crushed instantly—Cater's other man slammed a fist into his stomach, folding him in half. He dropped to his knees, gasping, tears springing to his eyes.
Sarah dropped beside him, clutching his shoulder. "Stop it! Please, stop! He's not worth it...he's a drunk, a loser, but don't hurt him! Don't hurt us!"
Cater crouched down, his face inches from Hale's. "Three months. That's how long you have to pay me what you owe. Every cent. Fail…" He dragged his finger slowly across his throat. "…and I'll slit yours. Then hers. And maybe...if I'm in a foul mood I'll let my men have some fun with your kids before I feed them to the gutter."
Hale's face went pale, his whole body shaking. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. "Please… please don't touch my kids. I'll pay. I swear. Just… just don't touch them."
Sarah's eyes widened, horror dawning on her face. "Kids? What kids?" She grabbed Hale's collar, shaking him. "You dragged Peter and Jeromy into this? You bastard! You useless fucking bastard!"
Cater rose, dusting off his suit, unbothered by the chaos he'd unleashed. He gestured for his men. "We're done here. Three months, Hale. Don't test me."
As they turned to leave, the house echoed with the sound of their boots. Sarah wept, clutching her stomach, while Hale lay crumpled on the floor, broken and bleeding.
Behind the locked door, Peter sat in silence, his small fists clenched, tears streaming down his cheeks. He'd heard it all. Every word. And in his chest, something dark and heavy began to grow.