Reflection in the Quiet
Summer had settled quietly over the Carter household. The kind of quiet that was soft and steady, where days passed gently without a rush or sudden noise. John found himself wrapped in this calm, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For once, there was space, space to breathe, to think, and maybe even to heal.
Most mornings, John woke before the rest of the house. The day was still dark or just beginning to lighten, and the peacefulness was almost sacred. He had slowly taken on a small but important role: making breakfast. It wasn’t a big thing, really, but for him, it was enough to give each morning purpose.
He enjoyed the steady sounds, the clink of pans, the crack of eggs, the hiss of the pan heating up. The scent of coffee filling the kitchen, soft warmth spreading. Carefully placing plates on the table, setting out utensils, pouring juice. It wasn’t just breakfast; it was normal life, and in that normalcy, John found a small anchor.
Linda often came into the kitchen, barely awake but grateful. She’d smile gently, her eyes tired but warm, and sit quietly down at the table. Richard was slower to rise but steady, the morning paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Matthew was already buzzing with energy, mostly from the music booming in the garage where he worked out. All of them welcomed the breakfast John prepared, and the small rituals of eating and talking filled the room with a comforting sense of family.
John liked these moments, the closeness, even if they weren’t perfect or filled with deep conversation. But what he liked most was that he could lose himself briefly in the act of cooking and serving. It kept his hands busy, his mind from spiralling too far into dark places. It was an anchor for his day, a reminder that even after the storms of the last months, something steady still remained.
Physical exercise had become another refuge for John. Early morning runs through the quiet streets, the fresh air filling his lungs as he pushed his legs harder; the muscles in his arms and chest burning during push-ups, sit-ups, and stretches back home. He liked how his body felt after exertion, tired but alive. The soreness and sweat helped clear the fog of his confusion, giving him moments of clarity. The routines gave his days shape and gave him a sense of control when other things seemed slipping away.
His family noticed the quiet change in him, though no one said so outright. They gave him space. Linda would bring a mug of tea just as John sat lost in his thoughts, Richard’s steady presence a silent comfort, and Matthew, whose life seemed louder with music and motion, would tease him gently or share a half-joking remark, reminding John he wasn’t alone.
But even through those gestures, John sensed quiet sadness under the surface, especially in Matthew. Since the divorce, Matthew carried a weight John struggled to understand fully. The betrayal, the split from Lucinda, the pain of losing something deep, had marked him. Matthew kept his strength, but sometimes John saw a flicker of something more fragile behind his brother’s usual hard edges, a part that had been hurt deeply.
One morning after breakfast, Matthew came into the kitchen, sweat still glistening on his forehead. The sound of music from the garage was softer now, the heavy bass faded for a moment.
“You’ve been at it again, huh?” John asked, drying his hands on a towel.
Matthew gave a tired, genuine smile. “Yeah. It keeps the chaos out of my head. Helps me breathe.”
John studied him quietly. “You, okay? Really?”
Matthew’s gaze dropped, thoughtful. “I’m managing. It’s harder than I thought, more than I was ready for. But what can you do? You just keep going… one day at a time.”
John nodded slowly, feeling the tightness in his chest. “If you ever want to talk, anytime, I’m here.”
Matthew’s smile softened. “Thanks, John. Same goes for you. We’ve been through too much to let each other go now.”
And yet, despite his wish to lean on Matthew, John wasn’t sure he could tell him everything. The last month, the fear, the physical changes, the strange tests from the Secret Society, felt like a burden too heavy for now. He kept those secrets locked deep inside, just as he always had been.
Later that evening, the house was quiet, bathed in the soft glow from the kitchen light and the lingering warmth of family around him. Matthew’s workout music drifted faintly from the garage, a distant heartbeat beneath the calm. John was wiping down the counter when a voice cut through the silence.
“Hey, John.”
He spun around, breath catching. Ava stood in the doorway. Her presence was calm, steady, and somehow both out of place and perfectly fitting within the quiet ease of John’s home.
“Ava?” John whispered, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped inside fully, her gaze moving across the kitchen, the family photos on the fridge, the dishes left from breakfast, the worn countertop he knew so well. “I thought you might want some answers. Maybe you’re finally ready for them.”
His heart thudded. “You can’t just walk in like this. What if my family shows up?”
Ava glanced briskly toward the garage, where Matthew’s music still thumped. “Matthew’s blasting his playlist. No one’s going to hear us. Your parents won’t be back for hours.”
John tried to steady himself. The question that had filled his nights since everything began tumbled out.
“Is there a way to change me back? To make all of this... stop?”
Her look softened, but there was no easy answer in her eyes. “It’s not that simple, John. The trials, your tests, they’re done, yes. But the experiment itself? It’s not finished. Because you’re still holding back. You haven’t fully accepted who you are.”
Confusion and frustration welled inside him. “Accepted what? What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
She stepped closer, voice low and even. “Think back, really think back—to the summer of 2020. During lockdown. You were at home, with your friend Duncan.”
John’s heart raced. The name hit him with a wave of shock. That summer was his secret; one he hadn’t told another soul. “How do you know about that? No one else should.”
Ava held his gaze unwavering. “Because you’re still hiding. Hiding not just from others, but from yourself. You’re running from your own truth, John. The Society’s trials weren’t punishment—they were to help you stop running.”
The memories flooded in, laughing in his room with Duncan, the awkwardness of feelings he barely understood, the fear that turned those moments into secrets.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. But until you accept every part of yourself, this won’t end. The curse, the physical changes, their hold on you won’t lift.”
John fought to hold back tears as he looked at her. “What am I supposed to do?”
“The trials are over,” Ava said softly. “You won’t face any more. But your freedom depends on facing your past, accepting who you truly are, and forgiving yourself.”
She faded like mist, leaving John alone in the quiet kitchen, the faint bass of Matthew’s music filling the space again.
For the first time in months, John felt something new, hope. The journey ahead wouldn’t be easy, but maybe, finally, it was one he could take.
He sank down onto a chair, the weight of Ava’s words settling deep inside him. The house around him seemed to quiet even further, as if waiting for him to listen more closely to the storm inside his own mind.
His thoughts drifted back inevitably to that summer, the summer of 2020. The word “Duncan” echoed faintly, reverberating through his memories like a soft, haunting melody. The images came slowly at first: afternoons spent in his room, the sunlight muted behind drawn curtains, the nervous laughter they shared. The way Duncan smile always held a hint of something deeper, something John wasn’t sure he was ready to name.
There was a particular afternoon he could never forget. The two of them sitting side by side on his bed, the tension between unspoken truths and desperate hope stretching tight. A moment frozen in time where everything felt fragile, vulnerable and electric. A moment that terrified John because it made him realize just how much he wanted to be seen as his real self, even if he was terrified of what that might mean.
But he had buried those feelings beneath layers of denial and silence. Denied the parts of himself that didn’t fit the world he’d thought he belonged to. He had told himself that keeping these secrets was protection, against pain, against rejection, against losing control.
Now, Ava’s words forced those walls to tremble. For the first time, John saw that the greatest chains weren’t outside him, they were forged within by fear of acceptance, by the refusal to embrace his truth.
Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden and fierce. The ache of loneliness, of lost years spent hiding, was raw and overwhelming. But beneath that pain was something else, a faint, flickering ember of courage. The same ember that had pushed him to keep running, to stand up again after every fall, to find some part of himself in the struggle.
He wiped at his cheeks, breathing in slow, steady breaths. Change would come; he told himself. Not without fights or fears, but it would come. He could face the past, the memories, the secrets, the parts of himself he’d hidden in darkness, and perhaps one day, they wouldn’t hurt so badly.
He glanced toward the garage where Matthew’s music still pulsed strong and steady. His brother was fighting his own battles, fighting his own losses, and John realized they were both walking a long road of brokenness and healing.
Matthew had his sadness too. John knew it was buried deep but present, an ache from losing something he loved, from being let down by someone he trusted. And now John felt, with a growing certainty, that Matthew would be there to help him carry his sadness too. When John faltered, when the weight of his own truth became too heavy to bear alone, Matthew’s steady presence would remind him he wasn’t fighting in the dark. Just like John hoped to support Matthew, he knew his brother’s strength would help guide him through his own shadows.
A quiet determination settled over John, a promise to himself that the time for running was over. The truth was waiting, both terrifying and freeing.
The sun slid lower outside the window, painting the room with gentle gold. And for the first time in a long while, John felt ready to face whatever came next.
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