Chapter 9

Debby’s POV

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“Mrs. Levin, you holding up okay?” Brad asked, his boots crunching on the garden gravel, his voice steady but his eyes sharp, like he could see right through me.

I managed a half-smile, my fingers brushing the roses, their sweet scent heavy in the morning air. “Just needed some air, Brad,” I said, my voice tight, the words barely hiding the ache in my chest. The house was too quiet without Jerry, his footsteps long gone to school. His face stuck with me—tired eyes, lips too quiet, shoulders carrying a weight no kid should have. He was learning to fake smiles, just like Levin, and it broke my heart to see him turn into his father in ways I couldn’t stop.

We stood there, pretending to admire the flowers, their petals soft but sharp against my skin. “Jerry’s tougher than he looks,” Brad said, his tone light but his gaze heavy, like he was trying to convince us both. “Kids like him figure things out.”

I crossed my arms, the apron pulling tight around my waist, like it could hold me together. “You watching him?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant.

“It’s my job,” he said, shrugging, but his eyes didn’t waver. “He’s a good kid. You and Levin are doing right by him.”

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the garden’s calm. “Doing right? I thought we were training him—to fight, to hurt, to be Levin’s hero.” My voice shook, anger and fear spilling out. “Levin’s gonna drag us all down one day, Brad.”

His jaw dropped a bit, then he shook his head, slow and steady. “Levin pushes because he loves. It’s how he’s wired—push you to be better, aim higher, keep moving. Whatever it takes.” He squared his shoulders, deepening his voice to mimic Levin, like a drill sergeant barking orders.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, short and real, the sound breaking the tension for a moment. Brad chuckled too, his eyes softening. For a second, it felt almost light, like we could breathe. But the heaviness crashed back, settling in my chest like a stone.

“That’s not love,” I said, my voice cracking, tears burning behind my eyes. “That’s control. He’s selfish, hard to live with, impossible to understand. And Jerry—he’s just a kid, Brad. He shouldn’t have to carry this.”

Brad didn’t flinch, his voice low and calm. “You’re not wrong. Levin’s tough, carrying stuff you don’t see—losses, enemies, guilt. It eats him alive. He won’t rest. But if Jerry turns away from him…” He paused, searching for the right words, his eyes heavy with something like worry. “Levin won’t make it. That boy’s his reason to keep going.”

I stared, my breath catching. “You saying Jerry’s his medicine? That it’s a kid’s job to fix his dad?”

Brad’s eyes flickered, weighed down by his loyalty to Levin. “I’m saying if he loses you again, the world burns. Jerry’s his hope. Levin won’t bend for anyone—you know that. But for Jerry, I’ve seen it. The kid walks in, and Levin softens, even just a bit. That’s the part you don’t see.”

I shook my head, slower now, my hands trembling. “I can’t risk Jerry’s safety on ‘bits.’ I won’t. If I have to, I’ll keep him from Levin, no matter what it takes.”

Brad’s gaze lingered, sad but not angry. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice quiet. “But maybe saving Jerry and saving Levin are the same fight.”

I didn’t answer, couldn’t. His words scared me because they might be true. The roses’ scent turned heavy, like they held my fears, their thorns pricking my fingers as I pulled away. A guard glanced at me, pity in his eyes, and I turned fast, refusing to be their sad story to whisper about.

I caught movement by the gate—Ruth, a young maid, hurrying with a basket of linens, her steps quick, like she didn’t want to be seen. She’d heard us, I knew it.

“Ruth,” I called, my voice sharp.

She froze, turning slow. “Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think?” I asked, not letting her dodge.

“About…?” Her eyes darted, nervous, her hands clutching the basket.

“Don’t play dumb. I know you were listening.”

She stayed quiet, her silence stinging more than a lie. I let her go, knowing she’d talk eventually, her quick steps fading as she hurried back to the house.

I stayed in the garden too long, the roses brushing my arm, their softness mocking my fears. Levin wasn’t unbreakable, no matter how he acted. He’d crack one day, and I didn’t want Jerry caught in the pieces.

The house felt empty all morning, the silence cutting deeper than usual. Wiping breakfast plates, I moved slow, the maids tiptoeing around me like I was glass. They smelled the tension, same as the stew simmering on the stove, its warmth not touching the cold in my chest. Levin thought strength was swallowing pain, but watching Jerry fake a smile this morning, I wondered if his way was crushing our son, bit by bit.

By noon, the walls were choking me. I’d stepped outside to breathe, the garden’s rose scent grounding me, but it wasn’t enough. Levin’s shadow was everywhere—in Jerry’s tired eyes, in the guards’ cautious glances, in the way the maids moved like shadows. I tied my apron tighter, as if it could hold my heart together, but the fear stayed, sharp and heavy.

Dinner wasn’t any better. The house buzzed with noise, but it was fake, a performance. Levin sat tall, like a king, his face hard, his shoulders squared. Jerry picked at his food, eyes down, chewing slow, like he was afraid to look up. I kept my spoon steady, forcing calm into the silence, but my hands shook. Brad tried to lighten things, telling a story about a rookie guard freaking out over a stray cat, his laugh warm and easy. It slid off Levin like water, and Jerry gave a small smile, polite but distant. My heart ached—Jerry was waiting for me to fix this, to make things normal. I forced a smile for him, small but real, and his shoulders eased a little. Poor kid, carrying too much for too long.

I remembered when I was pregnant with Jerry—sick, swollen, begging Levin to stay home from a meeting. He kissed my forehead, promised to be back by night, and left. I labored alone, pain tearing me apart, clutching sheets, biting back screams. My sister rushed in, held my hand, wiped my tears as contractions broke me. Levin came after Jerry was born, grinning, holding him like he’d done the hard part. “Perfect boy,” he said, smelling of cigars and iron, his pride bright but distant. That day, I knew—his love was real, but on his terms. I had to protect Jerry from learning that the hard way.

That night, I stopped by Jerry’s door. Small noises—his breathing, a creak of the bed—told me he wasn’t asleep, but I couldn’t knock. My hand hovered, my heart heavy, then dropped. “You’ll understand one day,” I whispered to the empty hall, my voice shaking, and walked away. Levin never lived for anyone but himself, dragging us along. His love was a weight, and Jerry was caught in it. I wouldn’t let it break him, no matter what it cost me..