SIX

The Jackson house had never felt so heavy.

Since those people had come by, nothing felt normal anymore. Marie moved through the rooms like a shadow, wiping at her eyes when she thought no one was looking. Jackson barely spoke, only grunting short answers at dinner, as if words themselves had become dangerous. Even Daniel, always cheerful, had gone quiet. He watched Hazel with worried eyes, asking nothing but saying everything without speaking a word.

Hazel hated it. She hated the silence, the weight, the fear that sat over them like storm clouds. Every little sound seemed too loud, the scrape of a chair, the clink of cutlery, the creak of the floorboards. She felt like the house was no longer a home, but a cage.

That night, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m going for a walk,” she muttered after dinner. She didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t wait for Marie to say “be careful.” She just pulled her sweater around her and stepped out into the cooling night.

The streets of the slump were quiet, scattered with the usual small groups of neighbors sitting on porches or chatting near shop fronts. Hazel kept her head down, moving quickly. She didn’t want anyone to ask questions. She didn’t even know where she was going until she stopped in front of a small house.

Charles’s house.

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Of all the places she could have gone, her feet had carried her here. And maybe that made sense. This was the one place where things always felt safe. Where the air didn’t feel heavy. Where she wasn’t just a girl with worries. Here, she was just Hazel.

She hesitated, her hand hovering at the door. Maybe he wouldn’t be home. Maybe he’d be busy. Maybe…

The door creaked open before she knocked. And there he was.

Charles blinked at her, his hair messy, his shirt wrinkled, but his face brightening the moment he saw her. “Hazel?” His voice was surprised, but warm. “What are you doing here?”

Her lips parted, but the words tangled in her throat. She managed a weak smile. “Can I… come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside immediately, letting her pass.

The living room smelled faintly of laundry soap and old books. The furniture was worn but comfortable. Hazel glanced around and realized his mother wasn’t home, probably still at her night shift. The quiet here wasn’t heavy like at the Jacksons’. It was soft, almost welcoming.

Charles motioned for her to sit on the couch. They sat side by side, the silence stretching for a moment before Hazel finally whispered, “Since they came, the house has been so quiet.”

His face darkened. “Those people?”

She nodded. “ After they left, Mom cried. Dad couldn’t even look at me. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere anymore.” Her voice cracked, rising before she could stop it. “Like they’re just waiting to take me away. And when they do… what if I never see you again?”

Charles reached out and caught her hands. His grip was firm, grounding. “Hazel, look at me.”

She did. His eyes, steady and serious, held hers like an anchor.

“You’re not losing me,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

Her chest ached, tears gathering in her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His voice was certain, no hesitation at all.

Something inside Hazel cracked wide open. All the fear, weight, and pain spilled out. And in the middle of it, she saw Charles, the one thing that hadn’t changed, the one thing that felt steady. She leaned in before she could stop herself and kissed him.

It was soft at first, trembling, uncertain. Charles froze, then kissed her back slowly, carefully. His hand slid to the back of her head, pulling her closer, steadying her. Hazel’s heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe.

When they pulled apart, Hazel was shaking. Charles looked at her, eyes wide, searching.

“Hazel…” His voice was low, questioning.

She swallowed hard. “I want this. I want you.”

His brow furrowed, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Hazel nodded, her whole body trembling but her voice firm. “Everything else is being taken away from me. But this… this I can choose. I want my first time to be with you. Before anything changes.”

Charles’s expression softened, torn between longing and hesitation. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “Not with you.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence between them full of everything unspoken. Then Charles leaned in again, kissing her slower, gentler, like he wanted to memorize every second. Hazel melted into him, the world outside slipping away.

He stood, still holding her hand. Without speaking, he led her down the short hallway to his room. Hazel followed, her steps unsteady but sure.

The small bedroom was familiar, she had been here many times before, studying or laughing together, but tonight it felt different. The posters on the walls, the stack of schoolbooks on the desk, the narrow bed, they all seemed to glow with the weight of the moment.

Charles paused by the bed. “Hazel, if you want to stop…”

“I Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice trembling but sure. She stepped close, pressing her forehead against his chest. “Please, Charles. Let this be ours.”

He froze, then pulled her into him as though the world had been holding him back too long. His arms wrapped around her tightly. For a moment, they just breathed together, hearts beating in the same rhythm. Then his lips found hers, slow, searching, desperate.

Everything else, the Jacksons’ silence, the house that wasn’t hers, the looming future, vanished.

Hazel held onto his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. His warmth steadied her, yet it set her trembling all at once. He traced a line from her jaw to her throat, his breath grazing her skin. Her hands moved up to his face, memorizing every angle, every shiver that passed between them.

When he lifted her, it was gentle, reverent, as though afraid she’d vanish if he let go. His kisses grew deeper, his touch protective but hungry with everything he’d never said. The air between them thickened with the kind of silence that only happens before surrender.

“Charles…” she whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of everything they’d been through.

He kissed her again, slower this time. There was no rush, no urgency, only the quiet ache of two people who knew this moment would change everything.

The world faded into the background, and in its place was warmth, breath, and belonging.

When it was over, Hazel lay curled against Charles on the narrow bed, her head resting on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, strong and grounding. She felt tired, but it was the kind of tired that came after something real, something important.

Charles kissed her hair softly. “No matter what happens, Hazel, you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Tears stung her eyes, but they weren’t from fear this time. She closed them, holding the moment tight. Whatever tomorrow brought, no one, not Jackson, not Marie, not anyone could take this moment away.

Hazel felt free.