Later that evening...
Tobey was still hanging from the ceiling.
Upside down.
In the kitchen.
Like a cursed fruit bat with unresolved trauma.
The front door opened.
"I'm home!"
Silence greeted him.
Unnatural silence.
The kind of silence that made a man question whether his family had been abducted or had simply learned stealth from watching too many spy dramas.
He raised an eyebrow.
Took a few steps toward the stairs—
—and froze.
Peripheral vision caught something.
Correction: someone.
Suspended.
From the kitchen ceiling.
His Father, voice cracking under the weight of sudden horror
"…What the—"
He bolted in.
There, in all his upside-down glory, was his son.
Eyes closed. Swaying gently like a pendulum of disappointment.
"Tobey?! Are you okay?!" He panicked
He grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook.
His Father, full breakdown
"Tobey—Tobey—TOBEY?!"
Tobey's eyes fluttered open.
Tobey, completely unfazed
"Oh, hey Dad. Welcome home."
The silence returned.
But this time, it was spiritual.
"…Who the hell sleeps like this?!"Him confused
Tobey yawned.
Casually looked at the clock.
"Three hours, I think?"
Father, deadpan, trying to reboot his sanity
"…one. Hours."
A pause.
Then the most obvious question ever asked by mankind:
"Who. Did. This?"
Tobey, casually
"Mom."
His Father, eyes wide, soul twitching
"…Damn. That's brutal."
He knelt down. Reached into his boot.
Pulled out a combat knife—because of course he did—and sliced the rope with practiced ease.
Tobey dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the floor.
soft thud as the kitchen regains its peace
His Father, patting Tobey's head like he's not mildly traumatized
"Let's get you on your feet. Or… at least, upright."
He helped Tobey up.
Tobey dusted himself off like hanging from a ceiling for three hours was just another Tuesday.
His Father, glancing around
"Where's your mom now?"
"No idea."
His Father, already sighing
"Okay. I'll check her room."
He walked down the hall.
He reached her door.
Knock knock.
No answer.
Only silence, soft and still.
He gently turned the knob and pushed the door open.
And there she was.
Bathed in the quiet gold of the early night light slipping through the window blinds, [Shalit] lay curled under a thin sheet.
Her sundress hugged her frame loosely, soft cotton wrinkled like it, too, had sighed into rest.
Her curly hair spilled across the pillow like wild vines in bloom, unruly and perfect.
Even in sleep, she carried that impossible contradiction: fierce and fragile.
Gentle. Dangerous.
Untouchable, yet needing to be held.
His Father, in his mind
"She's… radiant. Always has been."
But his gaze softened. Shifted.
Just beneath the fold of her dress—
Faint outlines of old scars marked her torso.
Like the memory of fire.
Like forgotten wars etched in skin.
And at the corners of her eyes, tears.
Dried, but recent.
A sorrow too quiet for words, too deep for daylight.
His Father, stepping into the room, whispering more to himself than to her
"Even asleep… she still carries all of it."
He didn't wake her.
Didn't dare.
Instead, he knelt beside the bed, resting his arms on the edge of the mattress.
Watched her breathe.
Watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, each inhale like a whispered story only the night could hear.
One hand slowly reached up—just enough to tuck a curl behind her ear.
The strands were soft, warm from the cushion, and wild like she'd wrestled with dreams instead of nightmares.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
The world didn't need fixing.
Only watching.
Only breathing.
Only this.
His Father, voice soft as if afraid the silence might break
"You avoid sundresses… because of them, don't you?
That's why you only wear clothes that cover the scars."
His hand gently combed through her curls one last time. He didn't want to disturb her.
Didn't want to remind her of anything she wasn't ready to remember.
He stood, letting the silence settle again like a blanket over the room, and quietly left.
His Father, muttering to himself with a sigh
"I guess dinner's on me again."
As he passed the hallway—
Tobey, poking his head from the bathroom
"The bath's ready."
His Father, raising an eyebrow
"Reason?"
Tobey, matter-of-fact
"Every time Mom does it. Today, she wasn't there. So, I did it."
His Father, cracking a half-smile
"Good boy."
Tobey, curious
"Why do you always ask me for reasons?"
His Father
"I'm testing your brain development. Seeing how it's growing. Think of it as your daily 'dad exam.'"
Tobey, nodding like a tiny professor
"Ah. Makes sense."
—
Later. After the bath.
Steam drifted from the kitchen, carrying the gentle sizzle of oil hitting a hot pan.
The smell of cumin and onions filled the air, warm and nostalgic. The kind of smell that made a house feel alive.
Father stood over the stove, sleeves rolled up, a quiet hum under his breath as he stirred the pot with the precision of a soldier and the patience of a parent.
Halfway through chopping the carrots, he heard the soft patter of feet.
He turned—
And there she was.
Mother, entering the kitchen in a hurry, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, wearing a soft long-sleeve top that clung close to her shoulders—one that clearly covered her scars. Her eyes still carried a trace of dreams, but her voice was awake now.
His Mother
"You're home, darling."
"Yeah."
"Sorry… Let me take over dinner prep."
Father, without missing a beat
"No worries. Just sit back."
Mother, walking closer
"You must be tired…"
Father, glancing back with a faint smile
"Just sit back and let me do my thing."
Mother, hesitating only slightly
"Okay… did you help Tobey earlier?"
"Yes."
Mother, exhaling in relief as she leaned against the counter
"Thank god. I was letting him stew in that trap for fifteen minutes and then I just… fell asleep."
Father, eyebrow twitching
"You must've been exhausted."
Mother, nodding, laughing softly
"Yes. Tobey's been setting traps since morning. I had to hang him upside down twice. The little goblin wouldn't stop."
Father, muttering under his breath with a dry tone
"…Great. Guess I'll need a reason from him tomorrow. Anyway—dinner's ready."
"Perfect. Let me call Tobey." Mother calling Tobey
Father nodded.
She walked over to the hallway and called out, her voice soft but strong:
"Tobey! Dinner's ready!"