When Mercy Opened the Door, Pride Finally Had Nowhere Left to Hide

I told myself it was nothing.

Then I heard a cough.

Not Mark’s.

Smaller.

Younger.

I was at the basement door before I could argue myself out of it.

I knocked once.

Nothing.

Knocked again.

A pause.

Then Mark’s voice, too fast.

“Yeah?”

“Open the door.”

More silence.

That was all I needed to know.

When he opened it, he was back in that same posture I remembered from the first time.

Shoulders tight.

Jaw set.

Eyes already apologizing before his mouth did.

Behind him, the lamp was on.

The couch had a blanket piled over something narrow.

A backpack sat on the floor beside it.

Purple.

Worn at the corners.

School backpack.

Not his.

“Who’s here?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder.

Then back at me.

“Nobody.”

I let that sit between us for one second.

No more.

“Mark.”

He swallowed.

“It’s my sister.”

The shape under the blanket moved.