Working as an anti-bullying consultant isn't exactly light work—especially for a middle-aged woman twisting lazily in the arms of her second husband. Charissa Baxter stirred first. She sat up and glanced over the broad shoulder of Charles Baxter. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 04:00 a.m. Finally. She'd beaten Patra.
That boy always woke up earlier just to help her make breakfast. Smiling to herself, Charissa slipped out of bed and hurried downstairs. Her steps halted mid-air when the washing machine chimed—that soft mechanical hum signaling the end of a drying cycle. Laundry room. Not the kitchen.
She slowly retraced her steps down the corridor. The space was narrow—two washing machines squeezed beside the stairs leading up to the rooftop where they usually hung the clothes. Her brows knit together. Patra stood there with his back to her. Not pulling out one—but three different bed covers.
He flinched the moment he sensed her presence. His grip tightened around the laundry basket holding the freshly washed covers from two hours ago. His mind worked fast—fabricating excuses before she could even ask. Even if she was only his stepmother, Charissa gave him affection as if he were her own son.
Sometimes… he felt like she favored him on purpose. To fill the emotional distance Apollo and Artemis kept stretching wider and wider. "Today's… the end of the month, isn't it?" Charissa asked casually, recalling Patra's habit of washing his bed cover once a month. Inside his heart, Patra apologized to Artemis at least ten times before answering. "Arte… she spilled something when she slept over, Ma. She washed it, but the stain was still there. So I rewashed it."
Guess I owe her dinner after this, he thought bitterly. His salary was almost gone. Charissa almost snapped at her daughter's carelessness—but a memory surfaced instead. A shopping trip. A version of Artemis that no longer existed.
"Tell her later. This morning, let Mama handle breakfast, okay?" she offered brightly. But her smile faded the moment she stepped into the kitchen connected to the dining room. An anti-bullying consultant.
Working at a women-and-children consultation firm. Yet she couldn't even guide her own daughter.
She chopped green beans and carrots from the fridge, laughing under her breath. Her marriage with Robert had failed. Her job became the only bridge she still had to Apollo and Artemis. Their birth was the reason she became a consultant. Charissa still remembered how excited they used to be when she came home, telling stories about cases she had solved. And yet—she failed to save her own daughter. Pathetic.
Ever since she brought Apollo and Artemis to the school where she worked part-time, something changed. Artemis changed. Charissa's confidence cracked. She watched her daughter come and go with different girls. Wondered which one made Artemis's heart beat faster. But if she asked—she'd be contradicting her own words. _Do what you think is right. Just don't tell Mama anything. I've never felt… what you feel, and I don't need to know._ Her knife paused mid-cut. Apollo stood by the dispenser, pouring warm water into his mug. He didn't meet her eyes. Just turned and walked back upstairs.
Charissa sighed. At least Apollo and Artemis still had each other and lately—they'd grown closer to Patra… and their friends. Tashi. Blair. Lacy.
---
Six years ago — Saturday Afternoon
On the way to SMA Prestasi Mandiri, Charissa stared at Artemis's disheveled face—
hair yanked messy by four girls from her class. No tears. Just a crooked grin. A suppressed giggle threatening to spill. "If they keep bullying you, Mama's quitting that part-time job. For real."
Artemis half-laughed. "You should focus on one workplace anyway." Then she added—"I'm finishing my two years at SMA Sariputta."
Charissa slammed the steering wheel. The car swerved and stopped at the roadside. "You're transferring too, Arte!"
"What for?!" Artemis snapped. Her laughter vanished, replaced by razor-sharp hatred. "So they can prove I'm weak? No! They kicked and pulled my hair because they didn't like what I said! Because they're not the kind of girls worth fighting for!"
She threw herself back against the seat. Apollo had been staring at her the entire time. There it was. Robert's stubborn strength. Inside Artemis. Not him. I'm useless… am I even worthy of being the eldest?
"Then which girl is worth it, huh? Emily?!" Charissa shot back. Silence. Because Artemis didn't have an answer. Emily hadn't answered her yet either—about the marriage. About choosing reputation over everything else. Artemis believed Emily wasn't stupid. But reality forced her to think.
Charissa restarted the engine. "Think about Gita too. Her pretty face got scratched because of the girls you mocked, just to help you."
"At least Gita doesn't hide at home like that coward Boris!" Apollo suddenly snapped.
"Quiet, Polo." Charissa rubbed her temple. "Boris is honoring his late mother's wish. He's studying abroad."
Artemis slowly turned her head. "Studying abroad?" she repeated.
Charissa shrugged. "You two should be happy. He's exactly what you always called him—a coward. You and Polo were right." Apollo patted Artemis's shoulder. "Life's lighter now, right?"
Artemis only scoffed. Predictable escape.
---
Guidance Counselor Room, six years ago — Prestasi Mandiri High School
Bored of waiting, Artemis dragged Apollo to the counseling office. She wanted to see what delinquent faces looked like in Prestasi Mandiri High School. Apollo muttered something about rival basketball teams.
Then—she saw him. A boy slightly taller than her, not as tall as Apollo. "Oh! Perfect timing!" Charissa chirped. Artemis stepped closer. Heart-shaped face. Elizabethan visual. "This is Patra. The only student who shouldn't be in detention."
"Because he's the principal's kid?" Apollo mocked.
Patra answered calmly. "One of my grandfather's brothers chairs the foundation. But this school isn't his." Then he looked at Charissa again. "I deserve detention, Ma'am. I tore a page from a library book."
"There's only a rule about not taking books home. It's weird you're punished for one mistake after winning countless rollerblade trophies," Charissa countered. Patra looked embarrassed. Even after he returned to detention and Charissa left for the restroom, Apollo kept staring at him.
"I wanna know what page he tore," Artemis whispered, tugging Apollo.
This time, Apollo refused. "I'll talk to him about the basketball team."
"He's a rollerblade athlete, bro."
"He's still from this school."
---
Detention Room, at the same time
"There's a nail inside one of Sariputta's basketball shoes," Apollo accused.
Patra rolled his eyes. "I don't care about the rivalry."
"Then why are you always waiting for Jared after games?!"
"He's my neighbor. When my dad can't pick me up, I go home with him."
He shoved his phone forward—Jared's number displayed. Clear boundary. Across the room sat two girls. Tashi and Lacy. They'd clawed and kicked each other during PE two days ago. Because Tashi recognized a flute Lacy used---Cassandra's flute.
Bought new. Cassandra failed her music exam because of it. The door opened. Artemis walked in holding a classic novel. Macbeth. The same book Patra tore.
"Why'd you take that?!" Patra stood up, panicked.
"I borrowed it!" Artemis lifted a library card with the name of Cassandra Wirjadinata. Tashi shot up instantly and says, "Return that card. Now. While I'm still asking nicely, Sariputta brat."
Artemis didn't budge. "I'll return it after he shows me the missing page."
Lacy smirked, now sitting sideways on a desk behind Patra. "Relax, Ta. Your precious Uncle and Aunt in their safety marriage won't care even if Cassandra gets haras—" She has not finished her insult over Cassandra when a wooden board eraser flew across the room. Slammed into Lacy's cheek. Silence---blood dotted her skin from that wooden eraser. Tashi had planted that eraser in her pocket earlier.
"Why so quiet?" Tashi stepped closer, victorious laughter spilling out. "I don't mind adding detention days. I can keep teaching you… what empathy actually is."
Artemis stood frozen. Library card trembling in her grip. For the first time—she realized. Some battles weren't fought with fists. Some were fought with patience and timing.