The door creaked when Peter pushed it open, his little brother Jeromy's hand clasped tightly in his own. The house smelled faintly of smoke and stale liquor, as though it hadn't been aired in weeks. Peter's heart drummed in his chest, not just from the weight of carrying his brother all the way home but from the cold knot of fear tightening in his stomach.
Sarah was there.
She sat in the corner of the room, arms crossed over her chest, one leg bouncing impatiently. The thin light from the single bulb swayed above, throwing her shadow long across the cracked wall. Her eyes locked on Peter the moment he entered, and his breath caught. Jeromy whimpered, clinging closer to him.
"Well, well," Sarah's voice was low, dangerous, almost like the hiss of a snake before it strikes. "Look who finally decided to come back."
"Mom..." Peter started, but the words tangled in his throat.
"Don't you mom me, boy." Her voice rose sharp, slicing through the room. "Where the fuck did you run off to? Huh? Who told you to take your baby brother out wandering the goddamn streets like a pair of stray dogs?"
Jeromy, too young to understand, began to cry at the volume of her voice. His tiny body shook against Peter's side.
"Shhh, Jeromy, it's okay," Peter whispered quickly, though he could already feel Sarah's gaze sharpening on him like a blade.
"No, don't shush him!...." she snapped, standing now, her body thin but her anger filling the entire room. "That brat's been screaming all day. You think I wanna hear it all night too?" Jeromy's tiny body shook as he clung to Peter's shirt. The boy's cheeks were wet with tears, and when Sarah's voice rose, he broke into a full cry—loud, piercing and desperate. The sound filled the room, echoing against the cracked walls, and for a moment it almost drowned out Sarah's ragged breathing. Then her head snapped toward him.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she barked, throwing her arms into the air. "This little bastard again? Always crying, crying, crying—like the world owes him something!"
Jeromy's cries grew louder, his small fists rubbing at his eyes, but the noise only made her face twist darker.
"You shut that brat up right now, Peter!" she snarled, her voice like broken glass. Peter hugged Jeromy tighter, rocking him. "He's just a baby, Mom. He's scared..."
"Scared?" Sarah cut him off with a laugh that held no humor. She bent closer, her eyes blazing at the toddler. "What's he scared of, huh? Of me? Good! He should be. He better learn now the world doesn't care for crybabies."
Jeromy hiccupped between sobs, the sound cracking Peter's heart. "Stop it, Mom!" Peter pleaded. "He can't help it...he's just hungry..."
"His what?....who the fuck do you think your talking to boy?!" Sarah screeched, slamming her hand on the wall so hard the bulb above rattled. Jeromy flinched, covering his face. "Don't you dare give me that excuse! All I hear in this house is hungry, hungry, hungry! Like I don't know what that feels like? Like I don't break my damn back trying to keep this roof over your ungrateful heads?"
She jabbed a finger toward Jeromy, her face twisted in fury. "And you....shut your goddamn mouth before I throw you out with the trash! You hear me? You're nothing but dead weight! Always bawling, always clinging, sucking the life out of me!" Jeromy wailed louder, his tiny hands trembling as he reached desperately for Peter. Peter moved between them, his own body trembling. "Don't talk to him like that! Please, Mom, please...he's just little.."
"Shut your mouth, Peter!" she barked, turning on him now. "You spoil him. You baby him. That's why he's so useless! Can't even sit quiet for five damn minutes." She glared at Jeromy again, her words sharp enough to wound. "You keep crying like that, boy, and the only thing you'll ever know in this world is pain!" The room fell silent for a breath, except for Jeromy's choking sobs.
Sarah stood over them both, breathing heavy, her chest heaving with rage. Then she straightened, spitting on the floor. "Pathetic. Both of you. Nothing but curses on my life. Where the hell are you two brats coming from?"
Peter's small hands trembled. He reached into his pocket where the folded bills Mrs. Whitmore had given him were hidden. The money crinkled against his palm. His eyes darted quickly around—an idea sparking within him. He crouched slightly, shifting Jeromy to one side, and with a careful motion he stuffed the bills down into his shoe. Sarah's sharp eyes scanned him, but she didn't notice.
He straightened again, his lips trembling. "We—we were just hungry, Mom," Peter tried. His voice was soft, but he forced the words out. "I took Jeromy out to find something to eat. That's all."
Sarah laughed, but it wasn't laughter that warmed. It was sharp, brittle, and cruel. "Hungry my white ass—Hungry? You think I don't know what hungry is? I been hungry since the day I married your useless father." She stepped closer, her face twisted. "And you little bastard, you think you're better than me, running around town begging, making people look at us like trash?"
"We didn't beg!" Peter said quickly, panic bubbling. "We just...someone gave us some food, that's all. Please, Mom, we..."
Before he could finish, Sarah's hand lashed out, a slap cracking across his cheek so loud it startled Jeromy into another burst of tears. Peter stumbled sideways, catching himself against the wall.
"Don't you talk back to me!" Sarah screamed. "Don't you ever talk back to me like I'm some fool!" Peter's cheek burned, his eyes stinging, but he didn't cry. He bit his lip hard, trying to stay quiet, trying to stay strong for Jeromy.
Sarah snatched the bundle of leftovers from his other hand—the paper bag Mrs. Whitmore had packed. She tore it open, the smell of food spilling into the room, and without a second glance at Peter, she dug into it greedily.
Peter's stomach twisted. He hadn't eaten all day except a few crumbs from earlier. Jeromy's tiny whimpering grew louder as the smell of the food filled the air, and Peter hugged him tighter.
"Please, Mom," Peter whispered, his voice cracking. "Just let Jeromy eat a little. He's so hungry..."
"Shut the fuck up!" Sarah roared with her mouth full, crumbs flying as she spat the words. "You are not in charge here. You think you get to tell me what to do with food in my house?"
"It—it wasn't..." Peter stopped himself before he revealed too much. The money. If she knew about the money, she'd take it. He swallowed hard. Sarah's eyes narrowed. "What? Spit it out. You hiding something from me, boy?" Peter shook his head quickly. "No, Mom. Nothing. I swear." She studied him for a long, tense moment, then sneered. "Lying little rat. Just like your father."
The words cut deeper than the slap. Peter's throat tightened. He wanted to defend himself, but any word would bring another blow. He lowered his head instead, holding Jeromy close, rocking him gently as the baby's cries quieted to soft hiccups.
Sarah tossed the empty bag aside, crumbs scattering across the floor. "Hahaha, you're not clever Peter, You think you can go sneaking around, bringing food into my house, making me look like I don't provide?" Her voice dripped with venom. "You'll learn. You'll learn to respect me."
She reached out suddenly, grabbing Peter by the arm and yanking him forward. He cried out as her nails dug into his skin. Jeromy screamed again, the sound piercing.
"Put him down," Sarah ordered coldly. Peter froze. "No—please, Mom, please...."
"I said put him the fuck down!" His legs shaking, Peter slowly lowered Jeromy to the floor. Jeromy reached up instantly, tiny arms trembling for his brother, but Sarah shoved him back with her foot, not hard enough to hurt but cruel enough to make him stumble.
Then, before Peter could react, she dragged him by the arm across the room and shoved him into the small, empty back room—the one with no bed, no light, nothing but bare walls.
"You like wandering the streets?" Sarah sneered. "Fine. You can stay in here and think about it."
"Mom, please..." Peter begged, his voice desperate. "Please don't. Jeromy needs me. He's scared..."
"You should've thought of that before you disobeyed me...!" She shoved him harder, and he stumbled, falling to the floor. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking loud and final.
Peter pressed his fists against the door. "Mom! Please! I'll be good! I'll listen—I'll do anything! Just don't leave me in here!" His voice cracked, breaking into sobs now, the fear overwhelming. From the other side, Sarah's cold voice echoed "Rot in there, you ungrateful brat." The sound of her footsteps faded, leaving only Jeromy's wailing cries outside the door.
Peter curled on the cold floor, his cheek throbbing, his body aching, tears streaking down his face. His chest hurt not from the slap, not from the rough shove—but from the helplessness, from knowing his little brother needed him and he couldn't get out.
He whispered through the crack of the door, his voice shaking. "Shhh, Jeromy. It's okay. Don't cry. I'm right here. I won't leave you, I promise. I'll always be here."
His words were drowned out by Jeromy's sobs, and Peter pressed his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes. The hidden money pressed against his foot, a secret hope buried in his shoe. It was all he had left.
And in that moment, trapped and broken, Peter swore to himself that no matter what his mother said, no matter how much she cursed him, he would find a way to protect Jeromy. Even if it killed him.