I endured a year of relentless bullying from the school’s worst delinquent, Tristan. Whenever my head was being violently shoved into a filthy bathroom sink, his face would always twist into an expression of sick, unhinged pleasure. I never understood why he targeted me. Until the day I fought back, accidentally snapping the chain of his most prized pocket watch. Inside was a faded photograph—of my mother, posing with him. That was the day I realized he was my older half-brother. The son my mother had abandoned years ago after he broke her heart. He bullied me because he hated me. That night, when I went home, I stopped hiding my bruises. When my mother frantically asked what happened, I let all my grievance pour out: "Mom... someone at school is hurting me. Will you come stand up for me?" 1 Riiing— The second the final bell rang, my entire body involuntarily flinched. The moment the teacher stepped out of the classroom, I grabbed my backpack and bolted. But I was still caught at the bottom of the stairwell. A group of guys in varsity jackets saw me and their eyes lit up. "Tristan was right! The little bitch really did try to run!" I was shaking all over. My instinct was to spin around and flee, but the second I turned, someone grabbed my collar with terrifying force. I smelled the faint scent of nicotine... It was Tristan. The mastermind behind the year of absolute hell I had endured at this school. I'm dead, I thought, despair flooding my chest. Within seconds, I was dragged up the stairs by my arms to the top floor of the building. There were no classrooms up here, just an abandoned boys' restroom that was slated for renovation. This was their "lawless zone." The place where they tortured me. I never understood why, out of hundreds of kids in this school, Tristan zeroed in on me. Our school was a combined middle and high school campus. I was just a seventh grader. He was a junior in high school. I couldn't figure out how someone as completely average as me could make him hate me so much. From my very first day of school, he had been in my line of sight. He would stand outside my classroom windows, staring at me with this dark, venomous look. Like a viper locking onto its prey. Whenever he bullied me, his face would twist into this terrifying, manic glee. SLAM— I was shoved violently into the bathroom. My body slammed against the rusted stall door, my arms instantly going numb from the impact. "Didn't he tell you to come up here on your own after the bell?" One of the guys slapped the back of my head. "Why the hell were you running?" When I didn't answer, he slapped me hard across the cheek. These guys were Tristan's lackeys. His personal enforcers. I clenched my fists, forcing my voice out through my tight throat. "Today is my mom's birthday. I just wanted to go home and celebrate with her." I was so terrified I didn't notice that Tristan, who had been leaning against the tiled wall with a blank expression, instantly went completely dark the second I said those words. He marched over and violently shoved the guy standing in front of me out of the way. Tristan was tall and incredibly strong. He grabbed me by the collar of my hoodie, forcing me onto my tiptoes so I was looking him dead in the eye. "Who the hell do you think you are..." Tristan ground out between clenched teeth. His eyes were twitching, his breathing ragged, like he was using every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself from snapping my neck. Before I could even process why he was suddenly so furious, he dragged me over to the row of sinks. The water in the clogged basin was brown, foul, and stagnant. Without a second of hesitation, Tristan shoved my head directly into the filthy water. Suffocation hit me instantly. I thrashed wildly, my lungs burning. I genuinely felt like Tristan was actually trying to murder me. Why?! My hands clawed blindly at the air, trying to grab onto anything to pull myself up. In my panicked struggling, my fingers caught onto Tristan's shirt. And then, they hooked onto a thick metal chain around his neck. "Let go, you little freak!" Someone stepped forward to pry my hands off, but as I was yanked back, the chain snapped. A heavy, metallic clatter echoed against the floor tiles. It was like Tristan woke up from a trance. He instantly let go of me. I collapsed onto the wet floor, completely exhausted, gasping desperately for air. When my vision cleared, I saw something bizarre. Tristan was on his hands and knees on the filthy floor, frantically searching for something. He looked panicked, his hands visibly shaking. "Where is it?! Where is it?!" "Find it! Find it right fucking now!" he roared. The lackeys, who had been standing around stunned, snapped out of it and immediately dropped to the floor to help him look. Watching them act so crazy, my fingers twitched against the wet tiles... and brushed against something solid. I turned my head. It was an ornate, vintage pocket watch that had popped open from the fall. Inside the watch was an old, slightly faded photograph. It was a little blurry. But my pupils dilated in shock, because I instantly recognized the person in the picture. My mother... Before I could get a closer look, a hand snatched the watch away. Tristan scooped it off the floor. He cupped it in his hands like it was made of fragile glass, using the sleeve of his expensive designer jacket to frantically wipe the dirty water off it. Treating it like an absolute treasure. "It's broken. The hinge is broken," he muttered, sounding completely manic. He immediately turned and power-walked out of the bathroom. "Tris!" one of the guys called out, confused. "What about the girl?" "Whatever!" Tristan didn't even look back, his mind entirely consumed by the watch. "I have to go get this fixed. Don't call me unless someone's dying!" 2 Thanks to that pocket watch, I actually got to go home early for once. Walking home, the autumn wind was freezing. My hoodie was half-soaked with dirty water, making the chill bite straight through to my bones. But I barely felt it, because my mind was an absolute hurricane. Every time I blinked, I saw the photo inside that watch. That gentle, beautiful woman was my mother. A younger version of my mother. But who was the little boy she was holding? Was it Tristan? How did they know each other? I had always known my mom had been married once before, and that she had a child from that marriage. I was the child she had with my dad after she remarried. My parents never kept that a secret from me. But my brain physically could not connect the dots between the terrifying Tristan and my mother's first child... But if... if Tristan really was my older half-brother, then every single unanswered question I had finally made sense. Why did he target me? Why did he bully me? Because my mother abandoned him. So he hated me. Why did he always threaten me after beating me up, telling me never to tell my family? He always said his family was rich and powerful, and that he could get my mom's flower shop shut down with a single phone call... But it wasn't a threat. It was fear. He was terrified I would tell my mom. He was terrified my mom would find out what he was doing to me! The more I thought about it, the faster my heart hammered against my ribs. I started sprinting, the cold wind clearing my head. I had to ask my mom. I had to know the truth! A walk that usually took twenty minutes took me ten. I practically kicked the front door open. My mom looked up from the dining table, surprised. "You're home early today?" Every day, to hide the bullying and keep my mom from worrying, I lied and told her I stayed after school in the library to study. And to hide the evidence, I always aggressively pulled my long sleeves down to cover the bruises on my arms before I walked through the door. My mom wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at me. "Go wash your hands, dinner is almost ready." Her eyes paused on my hair. "Why are your clothes and hair wet?" "I... some lady was watering her plants on a balcony and accidentally spilled the watering can on me." "Go take a hot shower right now so you don't catch a cold." I nodded, dropped my backpack, and grabbed some clean clothes from my room. By the time I came out of the shower, my mom had set the table. My dad was out of state on a business trip, so it was just the two of us this week. I sat at the table, looking at my mom's gentle face, hesitating. "Mom, I have a question to ask you." My mom put a piece of roasted chicken onto my plate. "Eat it while it's hot. What's the question?" I chewed on my lip, but finally forced the words out. "Mom, do I have an older brother? What's his name?" My mom's hand froze holding her fork. The smile on her face stiffened. "Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?" "Just... curious." My mom went completely silent. She barely ate two bites for the rest of dinner. I immediately regretted it. I shouldn't have asked. I had ruined her mood. But after dinner, my mom called me into her bedroom. She handed me an old photograph. "His name is Tristan. He was my first child." I took the photo, my hands visibly shaking. This photo... it was the exact same photo that was inside Tristan's pocket watch. 3 [Evelyn's Perspective] Evelyn hadn't thought about that child in a very long time. She had spent years forcing herself to live as if she had never given birth to him. If her daughter hadn't brought it up today, she probably wouldn't have thought about him, or her disastrous first marriage, for another decade. When her first husband started coming home at 3:00 AM, she should have cut her losses and left. But she compromised, over and over again, allowing that man to constantly test her bottom line. He started coming home smelling like cheap perfume. He started using "business trips" as an excuse to blatantly take his mistress on tropical vacations. Evelyn was heartbroken and exhausted. But she thought that even if her husband betrayed her, the son she had nearly died giving birth to would always stand by her side. She was wrong. Even though she poured every ounce of her patience and gentleness into Tristan, giving him all the love she possessed, he ultimately broke her heart. She remembered hearing tiny Tristan holding that other woman's hand, calling her "Mommy." He said his real mom was messy and annoying, and always told him what to do. He said he wanted the pretty, gentle lady to be his new mom. At that exact moment, Evelyn realized that Tristan was exactly like his father. An ungrateful, selfish traitor. She completely gave up on that family. During the divorce proceedings, Evelyn relinquished custody of Tristan to fight for maximum financial leverage to start her own life. She still clearly remembered the reaction of the father and son on the day she packed her boxes and left the mansion. The father looked incredibly relieved. The son looked absolutely ecstatic. "Yay! I get a new mommy! Yay!" Those joyful cheers were like rusty nails driven directly into Evelyn's heart. They were the knives that violently severed the very last thread of maternal love she had left for that boy. 4 After hearing my mom's story, I gently placed the photo back on her nightstand. "Mom." I tugged gently on her sleeve. When she looked down at me, I reached for the hem of my long-sleeved shirt and slowly rolled it up. Revealing my arms, covered in overlapping patches of purple, blue, and yellow bruises. "What happened to you?!" My mom grabbed my arm, her voice cracking in pure panic. "Did someone hit you?!" I choked back the massive wave of grievance I had swallowed for a year and slowly nodded. "Mom... someone at school is hurting me. Will you come to school tomorrow and stand up for me?" ... The next morning, when I walked into my homeroom, my desk-mate silently scooted her chair as far away from me as possible. My desk was knocked over on the floor. My textbooks were scattered everywhere, covered in dirty, muddy footprints. I quietly picked up my desk and glanced around the room. Every single student intentionally avoided my eyes. They were isolating me. Or rather, they were terrified of being associated with me. Because they didn't want Tristan to retaliate against them. After first period, a girl who used to be somewhat friendly with me finally couldn't hold it in anymore. She followed me into the bathroom. "Chloe, what the hell did you do to piss Tristan off?" "I heard you broke his favorite vintage watch, is that true?" "Is he just using that as an excuse to torture you?" She took my silence as a 'yes'. "That is so messed up!" We were middle schoolers, at the age where our sense of justice was at its peak. She frowned deeply. "Why don't you go to the teachers?" I looked at her, stunned. Go to the teachers? Did she think I hadn't tried? If I went to them, they would either brush it off as "kids playing rough" and send me back to class to avoid the paperwork. Or, the second they heard the bully's name was Tristan, they would pass the buck like a hot potato. Tristan's family had literally funded the construction of the new STEM building on campus. Anything involving Tristan was radioactive. Nobody wanted to deal with it. Or more accurately, nobody dared to deal with it. That afternoon, when the final bell rang, I was cornered by Tristan and his guys again. His face was incredibly dark. He looked like he was in a foul mood. I noticed his neck was bare. He wasn't wearing the chain. Did the watch shop tell him it couldn't be fixed? Was he here to punish me for it today? The girl from the bathroom with the strong sense of justice was still just a kid. Facing a group of massive high school upperclassmen, she was terrified. She stood at the corner of the hallway, watching me get dragged up the stairs. She hesitated for a long time, but never took a single step forward. She squatted against the lockers, grabbing her hair in frustration. Suddenly, a pair of designer heels appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to see a beautiful, gentle-looking woman. "Hi there. Are you in Room 104? Have you seen Chloe? I'm her mother, I'm here to pick her up."
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