After my sister sprayed perfume in my sonโs eyes, mom laughed, โif heโs blind now, maybe he wonโt realize heโs a burden.โ dad said, โat least he smells good now.โ they didnโt see what was coming next. The scent hit me before the scream. In that house, my seven-year-old son, Jesse, had learned that silence was a shield. But that shield shattered with a high, terrified wail. โMommy, my eyes!โ I dropped the plate and ran. He was on the floor, curled up, red-tinged tears dripping through his fingers. And then my sister, Mara, spoke. She stood in the doorway, holding a glittery bottle of her luxury perfume, her voice bored, as if she were describing a spilled drink. โHe looked at me for too long,โ she said. โIt freaked me out. So, I gave him a little lesson in boundaries.โ I snatched the bottle and threw it. And then I heard it. Laughter. From the couch, my mother, a bowl of chips in her lap, chuckled. โWell,โ she said to my father, โat least he smells better now.โ My father didnโt even look up from his newspaper. โShould have taught him not to stare. Boys like him always grow up pervy.โ I froze. It wasn’t just an attack. It was a consensus. They had all agreed that my son’s pain was acceptable. Trivial. A joke. I scooped Jesse into my arms and locked us in the bathroom, flushing his eyes again and again. The next morning, my mother knocked. โAre you going to come out of there and stop this ridiculous performance? You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you? It’s exhausting.โ I opened the door, packed Jesseโs things, and walked toward the exit. โYouโre not leaving,โ my mother snapped. โYouโve got rent due, and we feed you and thatโฆ thing.โ โThat thing is my son.โ โHeโs a burden,โ she spat. We left anyway. I walked the four miles to the nearest urgent care. โWhat happened?โ the nurse asked. โHe was attacked,โ I said. โBy who?โ โFamily.โ That night, we slept on an old mattress in a coworkerโs garage. As Jesse drifted off, he whispered, โIs she coming back? The mean lady?โ โNo, baby,โ I promised, my voice fierce. โSheโs gone.โ But I knew she wasnโt. The next morning, my sister posted pictures of her new makeup routine and labeled it her โhealing era.โ Jesse grew quieter. He flinched at sudden movements. That night, as I watched him sleep in a strangerโs garage, I made a decision. I wasnโt going to run. I was going to rise. I didnโt want justice. I wanted consequences. And I would build them myself. Watch: [in comment] – Made with AI