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My twin brother River and I grew up in an abusive and neglected household with our mother. After years of shielding me from the unpredictable wrath of our abusive mother, River was covered in bruises. Until one day, our mother brought us to a big house. Soon, a really tall man stood by a house. Mommy left, and he brought us inside. The man told us we have four brothers! "I'm Campbell. I'm your big brother." But I no longer trust anyone and don't want to tell them about what happened to me. Because I am scared that they will turn out to be the same as my mother. But I was touched by their tender love. I hold onto River's hand as Spencer lifts me gently. "I'm here, Willow. You're safe now. And from this moment on, no one will ever hurt you again." ———————— Campbells POV Some days are heavy in the chest. You carry them like bricks in your lungs-barely breathing, but walking anyway. Today was one of those days. Running Dad's company after his heart gave out wasn't what I saw for myself at twenty-four, at thirty, I still dont feel prepared. But death doesn't care about your plans, and responsibility doesn't ask if you're ready. You just do it. Because there's no one else who will. I pulled into the driveway, tired to the bone, mentally calculating how much longer until Spencer got off work and wondering if the boys had burnt the house down. Thank God for Diane, our nanny. Without her, Archer and Tristen would have already killed each other, probably over the TV remote or who finished the last Pop-Tart. I was halfway out of the car when I saw her...Melissa. My mother. About nine years late and exactly as I remembered: selfish, dramatic, and completely out of place on my porch. I groaned, grabbing my bag and slamming the car door harder than I meant to. She turned, smiling like we were about to catch up over coffee. "Wow," I said, approaching, sarcasm sharp as glass. "eight, wait, nine years late, Ma. I think you missed Archer, Spencer, and Tristen's last nine birthdays... oh, and Dad died 6 years ago...so missed that funeral." She blinked, tried to muster tears, but I knew that act. I grew up watching it. "Oh, don't do that," she said, voice trembling on cue. "I need help, Cam." "Back child support for the kids I'm raising? Great," I muttered, pushing past her toward the house. But then I stopped. Two kids. Sitting on my porch. One sucking her thumb, the other...maybe older, rocking her gently, eyes too old for his face. I turned slowly. "What is this?" She stepped forward like she was doing me a favor. "This is your brother, River, and your sister, Willow." I pressed my fingers to my forehead. "Dad's? Or someone else's?" Her eyes flashed. "Don't insult me. I'd never cheat." I didn't respond. I didn't have to. The resemblance was right there. Dad's stubborn jaw on the boy, Willow's eyes shaped like Tristen's. "So, what do you want, Ma?" She put on her broken act again. "I'm not well. I need help. I can't do it anymore. The little one...she cries all the time. I can't. I need you to take them." I laughed. Not because it was funny. But because it was absurd. "You want me to raise two more of your kids? I'm already raising the now 14 and 17-year-old you walked out on. Spencer was barely 18 when you left." "Please. I just need a little help. And some money... to get back on my feet." I stared at her for a long second. "I'll take them. And I'll give you money. But after that, you're gone. For good. No dropping in, no visits, no confusion. Because me and the boys...we don't need you. We never did." She hesitated. Then: "Well... how much can you give me? I know you've got the company now." "Are you hustling me, Ma? Are they even my siblings?" She slapped me. Big mistake. I grabbed her wrist, not hard, just enough to make her feel the line she crossed. "Touch me again," I said, voice cold. "And we'll have a problem." "They are," she snapped, yanking her arm back. "What about twenty." I let out a dry laugh. "Twenty grand to leave me alone? Fine." I pulled out my checkbook, scribbled down the number, and shoved it into her hand. "Now get away from me." She turned, mumbled something like "You'll regret this," and walked off like a ghost finally fading. I stood there, silence stretching long, before turning back to the porch. Two scared little faces stared up at me. I crouched down, not sure what I was supposed to say. Spencer was the one with the soft touch. I was the one who made sure the lights stayed on and everyone got to school. "Hey. I'm Campbell," I said. "What's your name?" The boy spoke, voice barely a whisper. "River... and this is Willow." "Nice to meet you. You hungry?" He nodded fast. The little girl was crying softly now, confused and clinging to her brother like he was the only solid thing in her world. River helped her up and took her hand. They followed me inside. I shut the door behind us and looked at the mess of my life. "Well..." We walked inside, the warm hum of the house a stark contrast to the chaos still hanging on my skin. Diane glanced up from the stove, raising a brow at the two shadows behind me. "Diane, you can go ahead and clock out early today," I said, shrugging off my coat. "Thanks for holding down the fort." She looked between me and the kids, her eyes lingering for a second longer than usual. "Everything okay?" "I'll fill you in tomorrow," I said, tossing her a tired smile. She nodded and grabbed her things. "Text me if you need me, Campbell. Seriously." "Will do." She left, and the door clicked shut behind her. I was alone in the house with two more lives I didn't ask for. Two more mouths. Two more hearts that had been thrown at my feet, cracked and fragile. I looked back at them. River was standing like a soldier, ready to follow any order. Willow clung to his arm like the floor might fall out from under her. "Alright, let's get you something to drink," I said, walking toward the kitchen. The house was quiet...too quiet. I hated that kind of quiet, the kind that buzzed in your ears and made your thoughts louder than they should be. I waved the kids toward the counter. "Come on, grab a seat." They climbed up onto the high stools, River moving first, helping Willow with both hands like he'd done it a hundred times before. She didn't speak. Didn't blink much either. I went to the cabinet and grabbed a couple of glasses. Then hesitated. Plastic? Maybe. I grabbed plastic, unsure what they'd prefer or even be comfortable with. Straws, too. Kids liked straws, right? Just as I set the cups down, I heard the slap of bare feet behind me. Tristen stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, shirt rumpled, expression unimpressed. "Who are they?" he asked, voice low and annoyed. "Your siblings," I said without turning around. I grabbed the milk from the fridge and reached up for the straws. As I did, I saw Archer step in behind Tristen, half-hidden behind his Nintendo Switch but watching closely. Archer's voice cut through. "Wait...how old are they? " I turned around, also questioning it. "How old are you?" I asked River. River was looking down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Eight," he mumbled, just loud enough to hear. I turned to Willow, who was still sucking her thumb, her legs swinging slightly off the edge of the stool. "And her?" I asked gently. River didn't look up. "We're twins." I blinked. "Seriously?" He nodded. That didn't track. River looked solid...like a kid who had already learned to carry the weight of the world on his back. Willow looked... tiny. Five, maybe six at most. Her arms were bird-thin, her eyes too big for her face. "She's eight and still sucks her thumb," Tristen muttered, before throwing his hands up and turning to leave the room. "Good luck with that." Archer following him out too. I exhaled slowly. "Ignore him," I said to River. River didn't respond, just looked back at his sister, watching her carefully like she might vanish if he looked away too long. "She... she doesn't talk," he whispered after a beat. "But she's good. I can help her, and I will take care of her. I'll keep her calm and quiet. We can stay out of the way. We can share a bed if you need...we don't take up much space and..." I cut him off by placing my hand over his. His skin flinched under mine like he was expecting a slap. "There's no need for that," I said quietly. "You don't need to earn your place here. You hear me? This house...this family...it's not a test. We've got space. You don't need to stay quiet or invisible or... perfect. You can talk. She can cry. That's allowed here." He stared up at me, eyes glassy with confusion. Hope and fear battling in his chest. "She cries a lot," he whispered. "She needs help. But I can help her." I nodded, even though my heart ached hearing it. "Okay. Let's start with milk. You want some?" He nodded. "Yes, please." I started pouring. "Strawberry or chocolate?" River paused. "What?" I turned and pulled two syrup bottles from the pantry, holding them up like they were a magic trick. "You can mix milk with these," I said. "Kids' choice." He smiled, actually smiled, and pointed at the red one. "Strawberry. But I think Willow would want just plain." "Got it," I said, pouring carefully. Two cups-one pink, one white-and set them down. River picked his up, took a sip, and sighed like it was the best thing he'd had in years. Willow just stared at hers. Didn't touch it. Just watched the room like it was unfamiliar territory. Her thumb was still in her mouth, her eyes flicking from cabinet to window to door, like she was looking for a trap. Then it happened. Archer, back in the living room, suddenly let out a frustrated scream at his game. "I died again!" The sound was like a bomb going off. Willow's body tensed and she let out a tiny, cracked whimper. She slide off her stool, knocking over her cup in the process, and clamped both hands over her ears, shaking her head hard, over and over, while she sat on the floor. "uh-uh-uh," she whispered, rocking. River's reaction was instant. He set down his cup, slid off the stool, and sat in front of her, shielding her like a human wall. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he whispered frantically, arms around her. I got you, Willy. I got you. Stop crying, okay? It's okay. I won't let them hit you." My chest cracked open. I stepped around the island, heart racing. "Hey, hey...it's okay," I said, kneeling beside them, hands up like I was calming a wild animal. River looked up at me, eyes wet, terrified. "Please...I'll keep her quiet. I'll be good. Please don't hit her. Please..." I didn't even know what to say. The kid was begging. Begging. Like that was normal. Like that was how life worked. That's when Spencer walked through the front door, still in his work shirt, messenger bag slung across his shoulder. He stopped cold, eyes taking in the scene in a split second: Willow crouched and rocking, River wrapped around her like a shield, me kneeling beside them. "What happened?" he asked, voice low, confused, and tense. I stood up slowly, my face still stunned, my hands slightly shaking. "This," I said, looking at him dead in the eye, "is what Mom left behind."

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Some days are heavy in the chest. You carry them like bricks in your lungs-barely breathing, but walking anyway. Today was one of those days.