"Are you seriously not coming?" My screech earns a glance from the woman driving her sedan passed the sidewalk outside my mother's house, where I'd been pacing for over ten minutes waiting for my brother to return my call.

"I'll make it up to you." The engine of his car roars on the other end. I can picture him driving outside of town: his radio turned off, his arm out the window, and his crooked smile as he speeds down the long stretch of asphalt.

The scream making its way up my throat falters, making a gargling sound come out of my mouth. "You owe me big."

I can hear the grin break out on his face. "Thanks, little sis. Tell Mom for me."

"Gah!" I say before hanging up.

The steps leading back to the house loom before me. Knowing well enough that I can't just stand out here all day, I go back inside. Stepping on the balls of my bare feet on the hardwood floor, I run into the hallway, open the first door on the left, and shut it behind me. I fall onto the carpeted floor and press my hand against my chest to still my racing heartbeat.

I'm approaching my thirties; yet, here I am acting like a child who did something wrong. The responsibility of telling my mother that her son isn't coming, again, weighs like a boulder in my chest.

I look around the nearly empty room, which used to be my bedroom before my mother converted it into her study. Now, all that remains is the wooden desk she's had for as long as I can remember. I open the closet, also empty except for a lone box on the top shelf.

I pull the box down and inside, I find several manila folders. I flip open the first. A photograph. My mother's younger face, with a black eye and split lip, stares up at me.

"Yuri? Are you in here?" my mother says as she opens the door. "What are you—"

I look at my mother, photograph still in my hand.

"Yuri," she whispers. She puts her hand on her chest. "You were too young, Yuri. I thought it would be best you didn't know."

"Dad did this?"

"Yes."

"Does Ryu know?"

My mother's lips tighten into a hard line.

"He was there when it happened." My heart clenches as I imagine my brother seeing our father do this to our mother. Alone.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

Her eyes soften with tears. "Because he's your older brother."

I push the box and photograph into my mother's arms and rush out of the room.

This time, he answers after the third call.

"Are you crying?" he asks when I sob into the phone.

"I know."

"About what?"

"Dad."

We share the silence that falls between us.

He sighs. "I'll come over in a few days."

"You better."

I smile when I hear his laughter.

~~~

A/N: This story was originally published as a standalone book in June 17, 2020 for the #HomeBeforeDarkContest