Chapter 4: The Boy in the Deep Water

Water splashed everywhere. His thin arms flailed a couple of times before he sank, leaving only a trail of bubbles rising to the surface.

My brain didn't even have time to process it. My body moved first.

I sprinted over and jumped in.

The icy water engulfed me in an instant, the cold drilling into my skin like needles.

I saw Casper struggling beneath the surface, his wide eyes filled with terror. I swam toward him with everything I had and shoved him hard toward the shore.

His fingers caught the edge of the muddy bank, but his grip was weak.

"Hold on!" I shouted.

Casper coughed violently, his face pale with fear.

I grabbed the back of his shirt and pushed him upward. Every movement felt heavier than the last. The water seemed determined to drag both of us down.

Then I heard shouting from the shore.

"Casper!"

Mom.

For the first time in years, I heard something in her voice that wasn't anger or disgust.

Pure terror.

I pushed Casper toward the bank one last time. Someone reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the water.

I tried to follow him, but my legs suddenly felt numb.

The world tilted around me.

I heard Mom screaming my name.

"Connor! Grab his hand!"

Someone reached into the water. I tried to lift my arm, but my strength was disappearing too quickly.

Then a pair of hands caught my wrist.

With everyone's combined effort, I was dragged onto the shore.

I collapsed onto the muddy ground, coughing until my chest burned.

For a few seconds, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing.

Then Mom dropped beside me.

Her hands were trembling as she grabbed my shoulders.

"Connor!"

I stared at her blankly.

She looked completely different.

Her hair was soaked from the rain that had begun falling, her face was pale, and tears were streaming freely down her cheeks.

I had seen Mom cry before.

But never for me.

"Why did you jump in?" she whispered.

I didn't understand the question.

I looked toward Casper instead. He was wrapped in a stranger's jacket, coughing as someone checked him for injuries.

"He's your son," I said quietly. "I couldn't just watch him drown."

Mom froze.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

I tried to sit up, but dizziness washed over me.

Someone called for an ambulance.

I almost laughed.

Again?

It seemed I was becoming very familiar with ambulances.

The last thing I remembered before everything went dark was Mom holding me tightly against her chest.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't push her away.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room.

The ceiling was white.

The sheets were white.

The smell of disinfectant filled the air.

For a moment, I wondered if I'd somehow ended up in the same place as before.

Then I heard a quiet voice beside me.

"You're awake."

I turned my head.

Mom was sitting in the chair beside the bed.

She looked exhausted.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

I stared at her without saying anything.

She lowered her head.

"Casper is fine."

I nodded.

That was all I wanted to know.

Mom remained silent for a long time.

Finally, she whispered, "Why did you save him?"

I frowned.

"Because he's my brother."

Her eyes reddened.

"Even after everything?"

I didn't answer immediately.

What was I supposed to say?

That I hated her?

That I had once wanted to make her suffer?

That I had spent years believing she was the worst person in the world?

None of those words felt right anymore.

"I don't know," I finally said. "I just couldn't let him die."

Mom covered her mouth.

Her shoulders began to shake.

I looked away.

I didn't know what to do when she cried.

When she was angry, I knew exactly what to do. I fought back. When she insulted me, I insulted her. When she hurt me, I promised myself I'd hurt her back.

But tears?

I had never learned how to deal with those.

After a while, she stood up and walked toward the window.

"When you were born, I was nineteen," she said quietly.

I stiffened.

"I was scared. I was angry. I hated the man who hurt me, and every time I looked at you, I saw him."

Her voice broke.

"I know that's not your fault."

I stared at her back.

Those were the words I'd spent my entire childhood waiting to hear.

But hearing them now didn't make everything disappear.

The bruises still existed.

The hunger still existed.

The nights I'd cried alone still existed.

The birthday cake with frogs hidden inside it still existed.

All those years couldn't be erased by one apology.

Mom slowly turned around.

"I thought if I stayed away from you, I could forget. Then I became afraid that if I loved you, I'd become weak. So every time I felt something for you, I pushed you away harder."

I looked down at my hands.

"Did you hate me?"

She shook her head immediately.

"I hated what happened to me. I hated what your father did. But I took that hatred out on you."

Her confession left the room painfully quiet.

I didn't know whether to forgive her.

I wasn't even sure I wanted to.

Then the door opened.

Casper stood there in pajamas, his hair messy and his eyes swollen from crying.

He saw me and immediately ran toward the bed.

"Connor!"

He grabbed my arm carefully.

"You saved me."

I looked at him.

He was crying again.

"I thought you were going to die," he sobbed.

Something inside me cracked.

I'd spent years believing Casper was one of the reasons Mom hated me. I had blamed him for the attention she gave him, for the food she saved for him, for the affection I never received.

But looking at him now, I realized he had never asked for any of that.

He was just a child.

Just like I had been.

I reached out and awkwardly patted his head.

"Don't cry. I'm fine."

Casper nodded desperately, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

"I'll be good from now on. I won't make Mom angry."

Mom's face crumpled.

"Casper..."

She knelt beside him and pulled him into her arms.

For a long time, the three of us remained there.

No one spoke.

But for once, the silence didn't feel hateful.

It felt like the beginning of something neither Mom nor I knew how to name.

Later that evening, Granny came to the hospital.

The moment she saw me awake, she let out a long breath of relief.

Then she looked at Mom.

Their eyes met, and something passed between them that I didn't understand.

"You finally told him," Granny said.

Mom lowered her head.

"I should have told him years ago."

Granny sighed.

"You should have protected him years ago, too."

Mom's face turned pale.

I looked away.

I didn't want another argument.

I was tired.

For the first time, I wasn't thinking about dying or running away.

I was thinking about tomorrow.

That night, Mom stayed beside my hospital bed.

When I woke briefly in the middle of the night, I felt something warm around my hand.

Her fingers were wrapped carefully around mine.

She was asleep in the chair, her head resting against the edge of my mattress.

I stared at our joined hands for a long time.

Then, very slowly, I tightened my fingers around hers.

She didn't wake up.

But I didn't let go.

Maybe I wasn't ready to call her my mother in my heart again.

Maybe I wasn't ready to forgive her.

But for the first time, I wasn't certain that disappearing was the only answer.

And somewhere deep inside me, a tiny thought appeared.

Maybe I could stay long enough to find out what happened next.