Jackson wore his black sheep title almost proudly, a quiet badge stitched into the fabric of his existence. Where Harriet nearly dazzled in university lecture halls and Cody silently racked up accolades, Jackson spent most of his time buried in books no one else understood, coding intricate systems on secondhand laptops, building things from nothing — things he never bothered to show his parents. They didn't understand him anyway.
Sitting cross-legged on the worn armchair in his dimly lit room, which he shared with his older sisters. Jackson flickered on his lighter, looking at a half-empty can of soda sweating on the desk beside him. Across the room, a dusty shelf sagged under the weight of science fiction novels, philosophy books, and a few odd trophies he hadn't even remembered winning.
Downstairs, he could hear the muffled sound of Cece's sharp voice, Camila's awkward laughter, the hollow conversations that filled the grand Baldwin estate. They were discussing Aura's "recovery" and Jackson's recent behaviour —words they treated like a PR problem rather than children's suffering.
He didn't hate his siblings, not really. Harriet was too far away now, locked in her own secret battles. Cody was absorbed by expectations, too burdened to notice anyone else's struggles. Harper, when she wasn't vanishing into the night, sometimes threw him a look of almost-fraternal understanding. And Aura... Aura he worried about more than he ever said out loud.
He wished he could protect her. He wished someone had protected him.
He hated this house.
He hated the stupid rules and the fake smiles and how nothing ever seemed to get better no matter how loud he shouted inside his head.
And most of all, he hated how invisible he felt.
The knock at his door was so soft he almost missed it.
He didn't move, didn't speak. Let them think he was asleep. Let them leave him alone.
But instead, the door creaked open a few inches, and Camila slipped inside.
She wasn't wearing her usual armor — the high heels, the carefully structured dresses.
Just soft slippers, an oversized sweater, and a tired, uncertain look he wasn't used to seeing on her face.
"Hey.." she said softly.
Jackson didn't look up. "What?"
The lighter clicked again. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
Camila hesitated by the door for a second before stepping inside. She tucked a strand of perfectly styled hair behind her ear — a nervous tic she only showed when she was trying too hard.
"I got a call from school," she said, voice even, measured. "Again."
Jackson smirked without humour.
"Wow. Who would've guessed."
Camila sat down carefully at the edge of his bed, like if she moved too fast, he might bolt.
"They're worried about you, Jackson," she said.
"You're barely there. And when you are, you're... not exactly making the best choices."
Silence. Heavy, awkward. Camila let it sit between them, refusing to fill it with fake comfort.
After a moment, she said, softer, "You're really smart, Jackson. You could do anything you wanted. You don't have to throw it all away because... because you're angry. Or hurting. Or because you think no one's paying attention to you."
Jackson scoffed, but it sounded more broken than defiant.
"You think a couple of good grades are gonna fix everything?" he muttered.
Camila shook her head. "No. But maybe they'll remind you that you're not invisible. That you're worth more than just surviving the next day."
He didn't respond. Just kept flicking the lighter.
Click. Click. Click.
"I'm not asking you to be perfect," Camila added. Her voice was a little steadier now.
"I'm just asking you not to give up on yourself. Even if it feels like the rest of us already did."
For a long moment, Jackson said nothing.
Then he quietly closed the lighter, tossed it onto his nightstand, and muttered a soft, "Maybe."
Camila stood up, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy hair — a rare, unscripted move — before heading for the door.
"Maybe's enough for now," she whispered, almost more to herself than to him.
Once she disappeared, he leaned over and grabbed a can of beer hiding near his bedside table, taking a gulp.
The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. Cece had taken her usual spot at the table, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Camila come back downstairs after checking on Jackson and stood at the stove, stirring a pot of soup that she wasn't really paying attention to anymore.
"So.." Cece said, her tone light but pointed. "I've heard the latest about Jackson."
Camila stiffened but didn't turn around.
"He's struggling," she said, her voice tight. "But he's just a kid. Kids go through phases."
Cece snorted.
"A 'phase' is something that passes. This—" She shook her head. "This is something else. Skipping school, hanging out with older kids who are nothing but trouble. It's disgraceful, Camila. He reeks of alcohol everyday, I can smell it from here!"
"I spoke with his teachers today.." Camila began, trying to keep her voice steady.
"They're worried about his schoolwork. He's not keeping up, and he's... well, you know he's skipping classes. He's spending time with older kids, smoking, drinking, and not even pretending to care."
Cece's lips curled into a thin smile, her eyes gleaming with an almost predatory satisfaction.
"He's simply acting out, Camila. A boy his age, with that kind of freedom—he's bound to go through a rebellious phase. But I have to say, he's nothing like you were at his age." Her gaze sharpened, like a hawk eyeing its prey.
"He doesn't have the discipline to succeed like you did."
Camila couldn't remember the last time she had felt so suffocated by her own mother's presence. Cece, sitting across from her, leaned back with an air of quiet authority, as if the conversation had already been decided in her mind.
"You've seen his grades.." Cece's voice was smooth, calm, but sharp, each word deliberately measured.
"And now Aura... well, we both know how easily she can slip if she's not kept on track."
"I know, mother.." Camila murmured, her eyes fixed on her teacup. "I'm doing my best with them. Jackson... well, he's difficult. You know that."
Cece's lips twisted into a faint smile, one that didn't reach her eyes.
"Difficult is an understatement. I don't need to remind you how important it is that we keep this family on track, do I? People are watching, Camila. They always are. The Baldwin name must remain pristine, untouched by the faults of its children."
Camila sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She hated this. Hated how Cece's words always felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her with guilt and doubt.
"I know," she repeated softly, almost to herself. "But Jackson's been struggling, and Aura... she's in a fragile place right now. I don't know how to fix it all, not like you can, Mom."
Cece's eyes glinted with something cold and calculating.
"You don't need to fix anything. You just need to control it. Make sure they toe the line. I did that with you, didn't I? And look how you turned out."