A week after the bloodshed at Riverside Park, Marcus stood by his hospital bed, methodically gathering the few personal items he’d accumulated during his stay. The doctors had remarked with a mix of admiration and disbelief at his accelerated recovery. Bandages had been removed, his wounds barely scarred over, leaving only faint lines that didn’t seem to match the severity of what he’d endured. But to Marcus, the physical healing meant little.
The nurses cleared his discharge, looking at him with veiled curiosity. He ignored their glances, nodded once to the attending physician, and walked out of the hospital. His chest felt heavy, not with pain, but with an absence he could scarcely comprehend.
The drive home was quiet, the city slipping past his window like a blurred memory. Streets they used to walk, parks they’d visited as a family, shops where he’d bought Alex and Emmeline treats—all became haunting echoes in his mind. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He had dreaded this return but knew he couldn’t avoid it. Home was the last place they’d been whole, a reminder of everything he’d lost.
The house greeted him with a hollow silence as he stepped inside, the air thick with a familiar scent that now felt cruel in its intimacy. He took a few steps into the entryway, his gaze settling on Emmeline’s tiny pink sneakers by the door. His chest constricted as he reached out, fingertips brushing the worn fabric. She’d insisted on wearing those shoes everywhere, even when Sophia had tried to convince her otherwise.
Marcus took a ragged breath, stepping farther into the living room. Toys lay scattered, remnants of Alex’s elaborate games, and a soft blanket, still folded on the couch, was one Sophia always used on chilly evenings. It still held her faint scent. He sank into the chair beside it, the silence pressing down on him like a weight.
A photo frame caught his eye on the coffee table—one they’d taken at Emmeline’s last birthday. Sophia was smiling, her arm around Marcus’s shoulders, Alex and Emmeline perched on either side, their faces alight with joy. It had been a simple moment, but to Marcus, it had felt eternal.
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Now, he would never see them again.
The thought hit him with a force that shattered whatever composure he had been holding onto. His vision blurred, and his hand trembled as he picked up the frame, his thumb running over their faces. A sharp, anguished cry rose in his throat, breaking through the silence. His shoulders shook, and he pressed the frame to his chest, head bowed as grief consumed him.
Marcus had spent his life inflicting pain, leaving destruction in his wake. He had taken lives, instilled fear, committed acts that had stained his soul beyond redemption. But he’d kept a part of himself back, a small, fragile hope that he’d left that world behind, that he could grow old with his family, watch his children become their own people, sit beside Sophia as they watched it happen.
Yet here he was, holding onto a picture as if he could summon them back by sheer force of will.
Tears streamed down his face, silent and unrelenting. He thought he’d known sorrow, regret—he’d seen men die, families torn apart. He’d caused that pain himself countless times, never letting it sink in too deeply. But this grief? This emptiness? It was as if a part of him had died with them. He’d spent his life as a weapon, but they had made him a man.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in memories. But eventually, the weight of exhaustion settled in, dulling the edges of his pain, though the ache remained as sharp as ever. The walls of the house stood around him, silent witnesses to a happiness that would never return.
He set the frame back on the table, his jaw clenched, his hands steady but cold. He had believed, foolishly, that he could leave the darkness behind him, that he could have something good to call his own. But that world—the one he’d built on love and innocence—was gone, replaced by an emptiness he knew could only be filled by one thing.
Vengeance.
But that could wait until tomorrow. Today, he wanted to grieve—for his family, for the life that had been ripped from him, for the man he had been. By tomorrow, he knew he would be stepping out of this house with no intention of returning. But tonight, he would let himself feel the full weight of his loss, the quiet pain of everything that had once filled these walls.