Charlene's POV
I woke to a quiet that felt… comforting.
I couldn't explain why. It wasn't heavy or unsettling—just calm, like the house itself was finally breathing. I got out of bed and stepped into the hallway. The silence lingered. The lights were off except for the kitchen, where a soft yellow glow spilled into the dark corridor, restrained and careful.
Kerill was there.
He stood by the counter, coffee in hand, dressed simply in a white polo. No jacket. No urgency. He looked like someone who hadn't fully decided to face the morning yet. When he noticed me, his gaze lifted.
"Good morning," he said.
His voice was neutral—but not distant the way it used to be.
"Good morning," I replied, my voice still rough from sleep.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched until he cleared his throat, as if reminding himself to say something.
"How's Wency?" I asked.
"Still asleep," he answered. "She's stable."
I nodded. That should've been the end of it. I should've turned back or moved toward the kitchen.
But I didn't.
Neither did he.
It felt like we were both waiting to see who would retreat first.
"Thank you… for last night," he said suddenly, eyes fixed on his coffee.
I looked at him. "I only did what I had to."
He gave a small nod. "Still."
Quiet again.
Morning light filtered in through the window, slow and pale, brushing against his face. That's when I noticed it—the fatigue beneath his composure. Not the kind that comes from work, but from staying awake too long. From worry.
"You didn't sleep," I said.
"No," he admitted.
I didn't know what to say after that. The air felt awkward, fragile.
That afternoon, Black showed up.
Kerill's stepbrother.
I hadn't been expecting him. He appeared without warning, smiling, holding a paper bag.
"Charlene," he greeted. "I brought soup. Thought you might need it."
I blinked. "Black? What are you doing here?"
"Concerned friend," he said, winking. "Not illegal, right?"
I smiled despite myself. I couldn't remember the last time someone visited me here—especially someone who asked for nothing in return.
"Thank you."
We talked for a while. I found myself telling him things I hadn't planned to say—about the house, the children, the weight of it all. He listened like none of it surprised him.
"Can you still handle it?" he asked.
I nodded. "I'm still here, aren't I?"
He made me laugh with his stories, lightening something tight in my chest. When I glanced toward the doorway, I saw Kerill standing near the stairs, watching us.
Had he been there long?
"You okay?" Black asked, pulling me back. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm used to it."
"You'll get sick like that," he said, suddenly serious.
"It's okay," I joked. "You'll buy me medicine if I do."
"I'll buy you the whole hospital," he laughed.
"Crazy," I said, laughing too.
He stayed nearly an hour before leaving, saying he still had work. When I asked what kind, he only told me to watch television.
After he left, Kerill approached, coffee still in hand.
"You had a visitor," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I didn't respond.
"Next time," he continued coolly, "tell me if someone's coming over."
I looked at him. "He's my friend. And he's your brother."
"I know," he said. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He turned fully toward me. "This house has rules."
"He didn't go near the children's rooms," I said. "And he didn't stay long."
And he's your brother, I almost added. Unless there's something I don't know.
His gaze hardened. "You're crossing lines."
I laughed—not because it was funny, but because I honestly didn't understand him anymore.
"What now?" I asked, irritated.
He paused, as if realizing how far he'd gone.
Then he exhaled. "Never mind."
I blinked.
What?