Kendrick

What a disaster.

Dismissing Jeffery for the day was a terrible decision, one I regret the second I try brushing my teeth and nearly knock the sink over. My hand slips. My body jerks. The toothbrush clatters into the basin with a sound far louder than it should be.

The shirt I pick refuses to cooperate, fabric twisting against stiff fingers. I manage two buttons before the third laughs at me, slipping free again and again. By the time I get it halfway on, I’m sweating like I’ve run a marathon.

I slump back into the wheelchair, chest heaving, frustration burning in my gut.

Defeat. Again.

No. Not defeat. Not today.

I rub a hand over my face, force the tightness in my chest to ease. Maybe if I distract myself, it’ll help. A movie. Anything but this silence. Anything but this room that feels more and more like a cage.

I scroll through the library of titles, the colours flashing past too quickly to matter. Horror, maybe? Something sharp enough to jolt me out of this fog. I don’t even bother reading the description—I just hit play.

Fifteen minutes in, I realise I haven’t absorbed a single thing. The music swells, the tension builds, the jump scares land—but nothing reaches me. The fear I should feel is absent. Instead, I’m staring through the screen, thoughts circling like vultures.

Yesterday. The embarrassment. The way my body betrayed me in front of her. The shame coils tighter and tighter, squeezing until I can barely breathe.

I should get rid of the chair for now. Just for a while. Maybe if I push it aside, I’ll feel more like myself.

I brace my palms, push hard, and stand. For one trembling moment, I’m upright. My muscles scream, my knees wobble, but I’m up. I take a breath—

The door creaks open.

“My goodness, you’re not supposed to do that,” Mother gasps. Her heels click against the floor as she hurries over, hands already reaching to steady me. “At least not without supervision.”

I sigh, too drained to argue, and let her ease me back down. The chair accepts me like an old enemy, cold and unforgiving.

Since my physio and I started making progress—small steps, cautious practice—I’ve been pushing myself harder than I should. Even when he warned me not to.

“Mother, how did you even get in? Ever heard of something called privacy?”

She clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “Thank goodness I came when I did.”

I rub my temple, irritation already brewing. “What do you want, Mother?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she smooths a crease on the bedspread, fussing like she always does. Finally, she looks at me.

“You haven’t stepped out since yesterday.”

Her gaze lingers, heavy, searching for cracks.

“Is there a special occasion I’m unaware of?”

I fold my arms. “Why are you even here?”

She strolls to one of my picture frames smiling, but her eyes betray her. They shine too much. Wet.

Here it comes.

“Liam, my precious baby. Even though you’re grown now, you’ll always be my baby.”

I brace myself.

“Just before…” She gestures at the chair, swallowing. “…this.”

The word hangs in the air like a curse.

I try to steer the conversation. “No patients today?”

She ignores me. “We used to have dinner dates, remember? We explored the world together. Laughed. Talked about life. You were so free-spirited. Even when you disappeared for days, you always found your way back.”

Her voice trembles. “But now… you’re distant. Angry. It’s like I’ve lost you completely.”

“Mother.” My tone is sharper than I intend.

“Where is my happy boy?” Her voice cracks. “Yesterday I was terrified. And when I heard you didn’t want to see anyone—not even me—it broke me.”

She inhales shakily. “I cancelled everything. Appointments, meetings—I just got in the car and drove like my life depended on it. But then your father said to respect your wishes. So I turned around.”

Tears glisten on her cheeks. “If something had happened to you—” Her voice cuts off. Then, softer, “I miss us.”

I clench my fists. “Stop making this about you, Mother. I’m the one trapped. I have no life. Locked inside like a prisoner. Even mice get to see the outside.”

“You know this is for the best. We need to be sure you’re ready before facing the public.”

“I know I’m a disgrace.”

“Don’t say that!” Her hand flies to her chest, wounded. “You know that’s not true. We’re protecting you.”

“By taking my life away?” A bitter laugh escapes. “I’m rotting in here.”

“You have everything you need. We even renovated the courtyard to give you—”

“An illusion.” My voice slices across hers. “An outside illusion. You still don’t get it.”

Her shoulders sag. She exhales heavily and stands, as though my words physically weigh her down.

“Your doctor says you’re getting better.”

“I want to go outside.”

She stills. Hesitates. “You know that’s not possible. If someone sees you, it’ll cause a ruckus.”

“I’m tired of being caged. Almost all the staff are gone. The gate is far from the backyard. No one goes there except the gardeners, and they have set schedules. They’ve all signed NDAs.”

Her brow furrows. “Jeffery discloses too much.”

“I deserve to know what’s happening around me.”

“I don’t know…” She wrings her hands. “One of the staff lives in the apartment near the garden.”

“Lies. More lies.”

“Keisha—maybe you don’t remember her—she might see you. Or that sister of hers.”

“Mother, please. I’ll be careful.”

She studies me, eyes narrowing. “Why now?”

“Because it’s suffocating.”

The silence stretches, long and thin. Finally, she sighs, defeated. “I’ll see what I can do. But your father can’t know about this.”

“He won’t. He’s barely home.”

She bends down, arms wrapping tight around me. Her perfume fills my lungs, cloying, too sweet. She clings like I might slip away if she loosens her grip.

“I can’t wait for all of this to be over.”

Her whisper is almost a prayer.

“Have you heard from your brother?” she asks suddenly.

I scoff. “The favourite child?”

Her expression hardens. “Stop that. You know it’s not true.”

“Right.” My voice is flat. “Haven’t heard from him. He’s probably too busy saving the Harrolds’ world.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Don’t talk about your brother like that.” A pause. “Joan and Nathaniel miss you.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” Her eyes narrow. “They’re your niece and nephew, you know.”

“Mother.” I sigh. “My physio—your brother—will be here any minute. Can I at least get ready?”

She hesitates, then leans down and presses a kiss to my head. “Alright, baby.” Her voice softens as she finally leaves.

The door clicks shut. Silence returns.

I let out a long breath, rubbing a hand down my face. This is exactly why I keep the door locked.

But even now, her words won’t leave me. Neither will the walls pressing in. It’s not just the confinement. It’s the absence of choice. Every action dictated. Every decision controlled. My life reduced to a schedule written by someone else.

I glance at the window. The courtyard beyond is beautiful. Perfectly manicured. But I don’t need to see it to know it’s not enough.

It’s all fake. An illusion of freedom.

I want more.

I need more.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of escaping doesn’t feel impossible.