Xenya (Chris Sturniolo's Wife) @xenyasplacex - Tumblr Blog

Mar 25, 2025

Baby Trapped— Chapter 5

Warming: Mentions of murder, Physical abuse, mental abuse, swearing etc.

Summary: Chris spends some time with his daughter while Matt and Chris make a surprise visit…and a surprise phone call.

A/N: HEHEHE. There’s probably like… 3 more chapters.

Chapter 4 — Chapter 6

Chris sat on the edge of his bed, an old photo trembling between his fingers. The edges were frayed, the colors slightly dulled with time, but the image was still clear. Him and his mom. He couldn’t have been older than eight, grinning up at the camera with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She was laughing, head tilted back, curls bouncing. She always laughed like that—loud and full, like happiness was something that lived inside her.

His thumb traced over the image of her hand on his shoulder. He could still feel it, even now. A gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance—I’m here. But she wasn’t. Not anymore.

“Daddy?”

Chris flinched, quickly shoving the picture under his pillow. Adriana stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was in her favorite pink pajamas, her stuffed elephant clutched to her chest. The sight of her knocked the air out of him for a second—she had his eyes, but the way she looked at him, so open, so full of trust, that was all her mother.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

Adriana nodded, stepping closer. “Who was that?”

Chris froze. “Who was what?”

“The picture,” she said simply, tilting her head. “The lady. Who was she?”

Chris’s stomach twisted. She had seen.

He forced a small smile. “That was… my mom.”

Adriana blinked up at him. “Oh. I never met her.”

“No,” Chris said softly. “You didn’t.”

Adriana frowned. “Why not?”

Chris swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t say the words—couldn’t tell his four-year-old daughter that the woman in the picture had been beaten to death, that the man who did it shared her last name.

So he lied.

“She, uh… she got really sick when I was younger.” He forced out the words, hating the way they tasted in his mouth. “She had to go away.”

Adriana’s frown deepened, but she nodded. “Oh… like how the fish at the pet store go away when they stop moving?”

Chris’s throat tightened. He nodded. “Yeah. Like that.”

Adriana climbed onto the bed beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I wish I got to meet her.”

Chris exhaled slowly, his hand instinctively coming up to smooth her curls. He wished that too. More than anything. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Me too, baby.”

Chris kept his hand in Adriana’s hair, gently combing his fingers through the soft curls as she settled against him. Her tiny body was warm, and for a moment, he let himself imagine what it would’ve been like if things had been different—if his mom were still here, if she had gotten to meet Adriana, if she had gotten to be a grandma.

He imagined the way she would’ve spoiled her, sneaking her extra cookies when Chris wasn’t looking, spinning her around the kitchen while music played from the old radio. She would’ve told Adriana stories, would’ve made her feel safe, the way she always had for him.

But none of that would ever happen. Because she wasn’t here.

Adriana shifted against him, her small fingers idly playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?” His voice was quieter than he meant it to be.

“Was she nice?”

Chris felt something crack in his chest. Nice? That word felt so small, so incomplete. She was everything. She was warmth and safety and laughter and late-night kitchen talks. She was the feeling of being tucked in at night, the sound of a lullaby hummed under her breath. She was the one who made the world feel okay—even when it wasn’t.

But Adriana was four. She wouldn’t understand all of that.

So instead, Chris just smiled softly and said, “Yeah, baby. She was really nice.”

Adriana nodded, her grip on his sleeve tightening. “Did she love you?”

Chris inhaled sharply. It was such a simple question. But it shouldn’t have been.

“She did,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than anything.”

Adriana was quiet for a moment before she looked up at him, her big brown eyes serious. “Do you think she would’ve loved me too?”

Chris felt like something inside him had shattered. He turned to face her fully, cupping her tiny face in his hands. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed. “She would have loved you so, so much. More than you can even imagine.”

Adriana smiled sleepily, as if that answer was enough. But it wasn’t enough. Not for Chris. Because she should have been here. She should have been able to love Adriana in real life, not just in stories and old photographs.

Adriana yawned and snuggled in closer to his chest. “I wish she was still here.”

Chris swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Me too, baby,” he whispered. “Me too.”

As Adriana drifted off, Chris reached under the pillow and pulled the photograph back out, staring at it in the dim light. She was gone. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t change that.

But he could keep her memory alive. For Adriana. For himself.

And maybe… maybe that would have to be enough.

ㅤㅤ

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-------

The waiting room smelled like bleach, sweat, and something metallic, something stale. Nick and Matt sat in stiff plastic chairs, their backs rigid, staring at the scuffed floor as they waited. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed incessantly, casting a sickly glow over the room.

Nick tapped his fingers against the table, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He didn’t want to be here. Every part of him screamed to get up and walk out, but he forced himself to stay. Chris was slipping, falling further under Aaliyah’s control, and they were running out of time. They had to do something—anything.

Matt, sitting beside him, was eerily still, his hands clasped together in his lap. His face was pale, blank, like he wasn’t really there. Nick knew this wasn’t easy for him either. They’d spent years avoiding this place, avoiding him, and now they were willingly stepping back into the past.

San Quentin Rehabilitation Center loomed over the bay like a scar on the landscape. It had been labeled a “rehabilitation center” in recent years, but everyone knew what it really was: the most violent prison in California. A place filled with lifers, men who had long since lost any hope of walking free. Murderers, gang leaders, abusers—monsters.

And their father fit right in.

The heavy door buzzed.

Nick’s spine stiffened as their father walked in.

Even after all these years, seeing him was like getting hit in the chest with a hammer. He looked… smaller. Thinner. His once-imposing frame had withered slightly, his gray prison uniform hanging loosely off him. His hair was streaked with silver, and there were deeper lines around his eyes.

But that presence was still there. The same suffocating weight that had haunted them as kids. The same cold, quiet menace behind his dark eyes.

He looked at them, and then, of all things, he smirked.

“Well, well,” he drawled, sitting down across from them. His shackled hands rested on the table, the metal cuffs clinking slightly. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you two again.”

Nick clenched his fists under the table. Don’t react. Don’t let him get to you.

“We’re not here for a reunion,” he said, voice cold.

Their father chuckled, shaking his head. “No, of course not. So? What is it, then? Come to tell me how much you hate me? Finally work up the nerve to get all that bottled-up resentment off your chest?”

Matt swallowed hard but didn’t speak.

Nick didn’t hesitate. “Chris is in trouble.”

For the first time, something shifted in their father’s expression. His smirk faltered slightly. “Chris?”

“He’s stuck in a bad situation,” Matt said, his voice quieter than usual. “With his wife. She’s hurting him.”

Their father didn’t react right away. He just stared at them, unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair. “Hurting him how?”

Nick exhaled sharply, his hands tightening into fists. “She’s beating him. Controlling him. Manipulating him. And now…” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “Now it’s worse than ever.”

A beat of silence.

Then, something in their father’s expression changed.

His jaw tightened. His smirk disappeared. He sat up straighter, his eyes darkening.

“And he’s still with her?”

Nick nodded. “He thinks he has to stay.”

“He thinks it’s his fault,” Matt added. “That if he just tries harder, she’ll stop hurting him.”

Their father inhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the table. Then he scoffed. “Jesus Christ. Just like your mother.”

Nick felt something in him snap.

His entire body went rigid, his breath locking in his throat. The rage inside him burned hot—white-hot, blinding.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

Their father met his eyes, tilting his head slightly. “I’m just saying—”

“I said don’t,” Nick snapped. His fingers dug into the table so hard he thought it might break.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension was suffocating.

Matt, looking between them, finally cleared his throat. “We didn’t come here to talk about Mom,” he said carefully. “We came here because, like it or not, you know more about this than anyone else. You know how to break someone down, how to trap them in a situation they think they can’t leave. We need to know how to undo that.”

Their father studied them both, his gaze sharp, calculating.

Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “But on one condition.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“When Chris leaves, you bring me a bar of chocolate, Colgate toothpaste, thirty bucks, a loofah, and a pair of fluffy socks.”

Matt blinked. “What?”

Their father shrugged. “You think prison’s all stabbings and riots? I have needs too, you know.” He held up a shackled wrist. “This place may be a hellhole, but you learn to appreciate the little things. I need a decent toothbrush, I want my feet warm, and I like chocolate.”

Nick stared at him, deadpan. “You’re negotiating with us?”

Their father smirked. “Supply and demand, kid.”

Matt looked at Nick, half in disbelief. “Are we really about to bribe our father with fluffy socks?”

Nick ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. Then he looked back at their father, voice flat. “Fine. Whatever. Just tell us what we need to do.”

Their father studied them for a moment longer, then leaned in.

“You want to get Chris out?” He exhaled through his nose. “Then you need to make him see the truth. And not just tell him—show him. Because right now? He doesn’t believe he’s trapped. He believes this is his fault.”

Nick and Matt exchanged a glance.

“She’s convinced him that he’s the problem,” their father continued. “That if he just tries harder, does better, then she’ll stop hurting him. That’s how abusers work. You make them believe that they are the failure, that they are the ones in the wrong.”

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. “How do we break that?”

Their father leaned back, his expression dark. “Pain.”

Matt’s face twisted. “What?”

“Not physical pain,” their father clarified. “But you need to make him feel what he’s lost. Make him realize how deep he’s buried in this. Right now, his world is his wife. Nothing outside of that matters. So you have to make him see past it. Make him lose something that shakes him awake.”

Nick’s mind was racing.

“And if that doesn’t work?” Matt asked.

Their father shrugged. “Then you drag him out by force.”

Silence stretched between them.

Nick’s stomach twisted “…That’s not really an option.”

“Why not?”

“…he has a kid with her.”

There was a heavy silence hanging in the air after Matt’s words, a silence thick with the weight of the truth. Their father leaned back in his chair, the chains around his wrists clinking as he did, a cold smirk spreading across his face.

Nick’s pulse quickened, and he could feel Matt’s body stiffen beside him. Whatever their father was about to say, they weren’t ready for it.

Their father’s eyes gleamed with a kind of twisted amusement, and after a beat, he chuckled, low and dark.

“Chris is baby-trapped,” he said with a laugh that made Nick’s stomach churn.

Nick’s blood ran cold, his throat tightening at the words. “What the hell do you mean, ‘baby-trapped’?” he shot back, his voice barely above a growl.

Matt turned to look at Nick, his brow furrowing in confusion, equally baffled by what their father was insinuating. He had never heard of such a thing before.

Their father gave a shrug, the smile on his face remaining as chilling as ever. “It’s a classic,” he said, as if the words were some well-known, accepted fact. “Get them pregnant, make them feel like they’ve got no way out. It’s simple. It’s manipulation at its finest.”

Nick blinked, the words catching him off guard, but Matt spoke before he could. “You did the same thing to Mom?”

Their father gave another dark laugh, his eyes glinting. “Exactly. Same thing. Got her pregnant, made sure she stayed. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” His smirk deepened. “You trap someone, make them feel like they’ve got nowhere to go, and it’s done. She couldn’t leave me after that. She wasn’t just stuck with me. She was stuck with the kid.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, letting them sink in. “And you know what? It worked.”

The air in the room felt suffocating now, the weight of his admission almost too much to bear. Nick’s mind raced, memories flooding back of their mother—how she’d always been so distant, so lost, even before everything had gotten worse. She’d been afraid, Nick realized now. She’d been trapped.

Matt’s face was pale, his jaw working as he tried to make sense of what their father had just confessed. “You made her stay? You trapped her?” His voice was thick with disbelief and disgust.

Their father shrugged again, unconcerned. “It’s not like she had many options, did she? It’s not like she could run off and start a new life with two kids. It’s simple psychology. You make them feel like they’re responsible for everything, that if they leave, they’ll ruin everything.” He leaned forward, the smirk never leaving his face. “Same thing’s happening to Chris. Aaliyah’s got him thinking that if he leaves, he’ll destroy everything. She’s got him twisted. She gets him to believe that his fault, that if he just tries harder, maybe she’ll stop. And now… now she’s got that kid to use against him. He’s stuck.”

Nick’s heart hammered in his chest, his head spinning. That’s what Aaliyah had done to Chris. She had manipulated him, made him believe that staying was his only option, that if he tried hard enough, everything would go back to normal. And now, with their daughter… it was the perfect trap.

A cold laugh escaped their father’s lips as he looked at them, almost pleased with himself. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s a foolproof plan. Get the kid in the mix, make them feel like they’re responsible for the child’s well-being, and there’s no way out. It’s like I always used to tell your mother: You leave, you ruin everything. You’ll take the kid and break up the family. You’ll be the one who destroys all of this.”

Nick’s body trembled with rage, his fists clenched beneath the table. The words coming from their father were like a knife to the gut. It was like he had no empathy, no remorse for what he had done. He’d stolen their mother’s life, made her believe there was no escape. And now, he was doing the same thing to Chris.

Matt’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “And you think that’s just fine? That Chris should stay in that relationship?”

Their father didn’t hesitate. “I’m just telling you how it works. It’s the cycle. It always plays out like this. She gets pregnant, he stays, and then they both drown in it. It’s what happens when you give people no choice but to stay. If he leaves, he gets hit with a child support bill, if he stays, the kid grows up around violence and pain.”

Nick couldn’t contain himself any longer. He slammed his fist onto the table. “You sick bastard,” he hissed, his voice trembling with fury.

Their father met his gaze, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “Calm down, kid. It’s the truth.”

Matt, however, was quieter. He looked at Nick, then back at their father. “So, if we take Chris, drag him out of there… that’ll work?”

Their father sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully. “…I’m really not sure,”

Matt sat silently for a moment, the weight of their father’s words sinking in. The prison’s sterile smell, the sound of distant voices echoing down the hall, felt distant now. His mind was preoccupied with Chris. They had to get him out. But the kid… how could they save the child from this, too?

Nick was already getting ready to head for the door, eager to leave, but Matt lingered for a second longer. His eyes flickered to their father, who was still lounging in his chair, his face unreadable.

Matt took a breath, his voice quieter than before. “How do we get both him and the kid out?”

Their father’s eyes narrowed as he processed the question. For a moment, he just stared at Matt, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You want both of them out?” he asked, leaning back in his chair as though the question was some sort of puzzle. “You sure about that?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “You heard me. Chris is trapped, and the kid… she’s got that baby wrapped around his neck. If we get him out, we need to get the kid too.”

Their father chuckled darkly. “Kid’s a pawn. She’ll use that baby to keep him under her thumb for as long as it takes. If you want to take both of them, then you’ll need to think bigger. It’s not just about pulling him away from her. It’s about breaking the connection.”

Nick was still standing near the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. “We’re wasting time,” he muttered, already impatient.

But Matt stood firm. “Just give me something, alright?” He turned back to their father, desperate. “Chris is stubborn, and the kid’s the one thing that’s gonna hold him back. How do we get them both out of that house?”

Their father sighed deeply, his hands resting on the table. He looked as though he was weighing the situation in his mind, considering all the possible outcomes.

“You need to make her a liability,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “You take away her power. Once she’s lost that control over him—over both of them—then you can pull them out.”

Matt frowned, not fully understanding. “How do we do that?”

Their father’s lips curled into a smile, a slow, methodical smile. “You make her a threat. You make it so she’s the one who’s dangerous to him and the kid. You don’t just pull him out and walk away. You make her so toxic that the situation’s no longer worth it to him. And then he’ll leave.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “How do we make her a threat? She’s already dangerous.”

Their father’s voice turned sharper. “No. She’s just controlling him. She knows how to manipulate him into staying. You need to show Chris that she’s the one who’s hurting them both. Not just the beatings, but the fact that she’s using the kid to keep him there. She’s got him convinced that if he leaves, the kid will suffer. But if you make it clear to him that staying with her will ruin everything—for him and for the kid—he’ll walk.”

Nick shook his head. “But if he leaves with the kid—”

“The kid’s not the issue,” their father interrupted, his tone firm. “Chris has to see that she’s the real danger. You want to get both of them out? You need to make Chris see that she’s the one keeping him in chains. Not just physically, but emotionally. That baby’s a tool. She’s using it to trap him. You make him realize that, and he’ll leave with the kid.”

Matt was quiet for a moment, digesting what his father had said. “And how do we do that?”

Their father smirked again, like he was enjoying the puzzle. “Get creative. Make it so that Aaliyah’s actions speak louder than anything else. Show Chris that she’s a threat to the child’s well-being, to his own mental health. Make him understand that staying is worse than leaving. You make him see that it’s not his fault—that he didn’t destroy anything by walking away. He just has to choose.”

Nick, still by the door, spoke up. “What if he won’t leave? What if he’s too scared to do it?”

Their father’s eyes darkened, his voice hardening. “Then you drag him out. You show him the truth, or you drag him away. You don’t give him the option. You make it so that he sees his kid’s safety is more important than anything she can offer him.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “We have to make sure the kid’s safe. We can’t leave her in that house, not with Aaliyah.”

“Of course not,” their father agreed. “Get the kid out first. Make sure she’s not being used as leverage against Chris. Once you’ve got the kid, then Chris will follow.”

Nick, still staring at the door, finally spoke again. “And what about Aaliyah? You think she’s just going to let us take them?”

Their father’s smile turned almost predatory. “She’ll fight. But she’ll lose. Once you’ve made her a liability, once she’s the one standing in the way of Chris’s freedom, she’ll crumble. Chris will see it.”

Nick shook his head again, his eyes dark. “I don’t like this. It feels like we’re playing right into her hands.”

Matt turned to Nick, his expression serious. “We don’t have a choice. We have to do whatever it takes.”

Their father’s voice was cold as he looked at them. “Just make sure you do it before she finds another way to trap him. You’ve got one shot. Don’t screw it up.”

With that, Matt stood up, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

Nick, already at the door, didn’t speak. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, his mind racing with the thought of Chris—of his brother, trapped and hurting. The pieces were falling into place, but the plan felt just as fragile as the man who had helped them devise it.

Their father’s voice cut through the silence as they made their way toward the door. “And don’t forget your promise,” he called after them, the smirk in his voice still present. “My chocolate and socks.”

Matt shot a quick look at Nick, but neither of them responded. They had more important things to focus on now.

They were going to get Chris and the kid out. And nothing was going to stop them.

ㅤㅤ

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-------

Chris sat on the closed toilet lid, head down, shoulders curled in, as he dabbed at the fresh cut on his lip. His hands were shaking, and the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball stung like hell, but he barely registered the pain.

His body hurt in a way he was getting too used to—his ribs ached from where Aaliyah had slammed him against the wall, his cheek throbbed from the slap that had come right after. But the worst part was how predictable it all was.

He should’ve known.

The moment Aaliyah had snatched his phone off the counter at dinner and tried to unlock it, he should’ve known. When she realized the password was still changed—when her face darkened and her jaw clenched—he should’ve just braced himself.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” she had whispered, voice eerily calm. And then the first slap landed.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the memory was still raw. The second she had him on the ground, she wasn’t just hitting him—she was teaching him a lesson. That was the worst part.

He didn’t even argue anymore.

Didn’t fight back.

Didn’t ask why.

Just tried to protect his head and waited for her to be done.

Now, here he was, trying to clean himself up like it was just another part of his routine.

“Daddy?”

The small voice jolted him.

Chris lifted his head and saw Adriana standing in the doorway, her tiny feet bare against the bathroom tile, her favorite stuffed bear clutched in one arm. She looked sleepy, but her face twisted with concern as she stepped closer.

“You okay?”

Chris quickly forced himself upright, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “Yeah, baby, I’m okay.” His voice was hoarse, and his smile felt weak.

Adriana didn’t look convinced. She climbed up onto the counter beside the sink, crossing her legs and watching him like she knew something was wrong but didn’t know the right words to ask.

After a moment, she dug into her pajama pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled Band-Aid. It was one of her princess ones—pink, covered in tiny crowns and castles.

She held it out to him. “I help?”

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. He managed a small, tired chuckle. “Yeah, you can help.”

Adriana grinned and unwrapped the Band-Aid with intense focus before carefully sticking it to his arm—nowhere near an actual injury, but he let her do it anyway.

She hummed to herself, gently patting the Band-Aid into place.

Then, without looking up, she said in the most casual, innocent voice:

“Will my husband hit me when I’m big, too?”

Chris froze.

His stomach dropped so fast he thought he might be sick.

His hands went slack on the counter, and the antiseptic wipe tumbled to the floor.

“W-What?” His voice cracked.

Adriana swung her legs, completely unbothered. “Mommy says when you don’t listen, you get boo-boos.” She tapped the Band-Aid on his arm lightly, like she was patching up a scraped knee. “So… when I don’t listen, will my husband give me boo-boos, too?”

Chris’s entire world tilted.

His chest tightened painfully, and he struggled to find anything to say.

His mind raced—back to his own childhood, to the nights when his mother would hold a washcloth to her split lip, whispering that it was okay, that it was just what love looked like.

Back to the time she sat on his bed when he was thirteen, brushing his hair back and saying, Don’t ever end up like me.

Back to her lying cold and still on the kitchen floor, blood pooling beneath her head.

Chris clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. He forced himself to take a deep breath and steady his voice.

“No.” His throat felt tight. “No, baby. That’s not supposed to happen.”

Adriana frowned slightly, tilting her head. “But it happens to you.”

Chris squeezed his eyes shut for a second before opening them again. He gently cupped her small face in his hands, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

“Listen to me, okay?” His hands were shaking. “No one is ever allowed to hurt you. Not your husband, not your friends, not anyone. If someone ever lays a hand on you, you leave. You don’t stay. You hear me?”

Adriana blinked at him, tiny fingers gripping his wrists.

“Even if they say sorry?”

Chris’s heart shattered.

He could barely breathe past the lump in his throat.

“Especially then.”

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding, as if filing the information away. Then she reached out and pressed another Band-Aid to his wrist.

Chris let her, swallowing past the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over him.

He had to get out.

Not just for himself.

But for her.

Back at the House

Chris sat on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt off, dabbing at the fresh bruises blooming across his ribs. His movements were slow, careful. Every breath stung.

Adriana sat on the closed toilet lid beside him, her little hands fumbling with the bandages. She had insisted on “helping,” her tiny fingers gripping the gauze too tightly, twisting it in the wrong direction. Chris winced but didn’t stop her.

She was concentrating hard, her tongue peeking out slightly as she worked.

“There,” she said, patting his arm when she finished wrapping the bandage around his side. “All better.”

Chris forced a smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Adriana beamed at him, proud of her work. But then her face scrunched up in thought, and she tilted her head.

“Mommy says you’re bad,” she said suddenly.

Chris stiffened.

Adriana swung her feet where they dangled off the toilet lid, kicking them absentmindedly. “She says you don’t listen, and that’s why she has to fix you.”

Chris swallowed, his throat dry.

“She—” Adriana hesitated, her little fingers twisting the edge of her dress. “She says that when I get older, I have to make sure my husband listens too. Or else he’ll be bad.”

Chris felt something deep in his chest crack.

His daughter wasn’t even six. And Aaliyah had already planted the seeds.

His stomach turned violently.

“Adri,” he said softly, forcing himself to keep his voice even. “That’s not true.”

Adriana frowned, confused. “But Mommy—”

“Mommy is wrong.” The words were out before he could stop them, and his heart pounded as he realized what he had just said. He had never openly gone against Aaliyah in front of Adriana.

But he couldn’t let her believe this.

“Love isn’t about hurting people,” he said, his voice shaking. “And if someone ever tells you it is, they’re lying.”

Adriana studied him, her little brows furrowed. “But Mommy loves you.”

Chris felt his breath hitch.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

He had no idea how to answer that.

A heavy silence filled the bathroom. Adriana watched him, waiting for an explanation he wasn’t sure how to give.

Finally, she scooted closer, resting her small head against his arm.

“I don’t want to be mean to my husband,” she said quietly.

Chris shut his eyes.

God, what was he doing?

He placed a gentle hand on Adriana’s back, holding her close.

“You won’t be,” he whispered.

But deep down, he wondered if that was a promise he could keep.

ㅤㅤ

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ 𐦍 ˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹-------

Matt sat in the back of the car, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat, eyes staring out of the window at the blur of passing streetlights. The drive home from the prison felt longer than it had any right to, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. The only sound was the soft hum of the car and the occasional sigh from Nick, who was still processing the meeting with their father.

They had no choice but to act now. And they were running out of time.

Matt couldn’t hold it in anymore. He pulled out his phone, dialed the number he’d been avoiding for years, and waited.

The line rang for what felt like an eternity before Justin’s voice came through, rough but familiar.

“Yeah?”

“Justin, it’s Matt,” he said, his voice strained, his throat tight. “I… I need your help. We need your help.”

There was a long pause before Justin responded, his voice low, but Matt could hear the concern there. “What’s going on, Matt? What’s wrong?”

Matt glanced at Nick, who had been focused on the road, his expression unreadable. He took a breath, then started speaking, his words tumbling out in an urgent rush.

“It’s Chris, Justin. He’s—he’s with someone. Someone who’s… she’s hurting him, man. She’s controlling him, isolating him. And he won’t leave her. He thinks he has to stay. He thinks it’s for his daughter, Adriana. But she’s got him twisted. She’s manipulating him.”

A beat of silence followed on the other end of the line. “What the hell are you talking about?” Justin finally asked, his voice sharp.

Matt’s pulse quickened. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, but he had to tell Justin the truth. “Her name’s Aaliyah. She’s been messing with his head for years. Cutting him off from everyone, including me and Nick. You… you haven’t talked to him in six years, Justin. And it’s all because of her. She’s convinced him that we’re the problem, that we’re the ones dragging him down. But he’s stuck, man. He’s deep in it, and now she’s started… it’s gotten worse. She’s been beating him, controlling him, and he doesn’t even see it.”

Nick tensed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He glanced at Matt in the rearview mirror, eyes searching for any sign of hope, but Matt just shook his head, his focus still on the phone call.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Justin said, his voice quieter now. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he reach out?”

“Because she made him believe that if he cut everyone out, things would be better,” Matt said, the words bitter in his mouth. “She made him believe we were all toxic, that we were the ones who caused him pain. He cut you off, Justin. He cut all of us off. And now… now it’s gotten worse. He won’t leave her because he thinks if he does, it’ll hurt Adriana. He thinks if he stays, he can protect her. But it’s a lie. And it’s destroying him.”

The line went silent again, and Matt could hear Justin’s heavy breathing on the other end. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything Matt had just said.

“Fuck,” Justin muttered. “I didn’t even know. I didn’t know he was like this. After everything that happened with Mom… why didn’t he come to me? Why didn’t he come to any of us?”

“I don’t know, man,” Matt replied, frustration creeping into his voice. “But we’re running out of time. We need you to talk to him. We need you to get through to him, Justin. He won’t listen to us anymore. He won’t listen to me.” His voice broke slightly as he added, “He’s slipping away.”

Justin’s voice softened. “I know. I know, Matt. It’s just—” He paused, then let out a frustrated breath. “What the hell happened? Why the hell is he letting this happen to him?”

Matt closed his eyes for a moment, his mind flashing back to their mother’s death. To Chris’s testimony, to how they’d all been broken by it, in one way or another.

“He thinks he’s the problem, Justin,” Matt said, the words coming out heavy, soaked in guilt. “He thinks if he just does better, if he just tries harder, she’ll stop. But she won’t. She’s destroying him. And we need to save him.”

Justin was silent for a long time, then, “So what do you want me to do? What the hell can I do now, after six years of nothing?”

Matt leaned forward, his breath catching as he spoke the words that had been weighing on him for weeks. “You need to talk to him, Justin. He’s still your brother. He needs you now. He won’t listen to me, but he might listen to you. Just—please. He’s drowning.”

On the other end of the line, Justin was silent, processing the magnitude of what Matt had said. Then he spoke, quieter now, his tone filled with something like resignation. “I don’t know if I can fix this, Matt. I don’t know if I can fix him. If you guys can’t get through to him, what hope do I have.”

“You don’t have to fix him,” Matt said, his voice tight with emotion. “You just have to make him see that there’s a way out. You have to make him see that he can escape. That he’s worth more than this.”

Nick broke the silence, his voice soft from the front seat. “We need all the help we can get, Justin.”

There was a long pause before Justin finally responded, his voice firm but laced with concern. “Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll talk to him.”

Matt’s heart dropped in relief. “Thank you, man. Just… just talk to him. Help him see what he’s letting happen.”

Justin exhaled slowly. “I’ll do what I can, it probably won’t change anything…but i’ll try.”

As Matt ended the call, the car settled into a new kind of silence. Nick drove on, his focus back on the road, but the air was different now. For the first time in a long time, there was hope—a fragile, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, they could save Chris before it was too late.

One thing about Justin was that out of all of them, he was the most determined. If he had an exam he had to get an A+, if he was doing sport he had to get the gold medal, if he was making dinner, it would be a five course meal worth triple the price of the ingredients and right now if it came to making his brother realise situation he was in they all knew Justin would go to the end of the earth to make sure it happens

A/N:

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