John & Katie

The Truth We Hide

WILSON.

The adrenaline from the alley was beginning to wear off, but the anger remained. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd found when I got there—or what Steven was planning on doing to Katie.

When I opened the door to my apartment, I found Steven slumped on the sofa.

He looked exactly like I expected.

Swollen and covered in dark purple bruises, his face was almost unrecognizable. His nose was twisted at an unnatural angle, and he was holding his ribs as though every breath caused him pain.

I didn't feel sorry for him.

"You piece of s**t," I said, staring at him. "I'm ashamed to call you my brother. I raised you better than this."

Steven looked up at me, his eyes barely visible through the swelling.

"Can we do this later?" he choked out.

"No, we can't." My anger flared again. "You almost crossed a serious boundary with Katie. How could you do that?"

"Wilson, enough. I can't do this right now." He winced as he shifted on the sofa. "You've already whooped my ass, and I'm in a lot of pain."

He doubled over with a harsh cough, a trace of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth.

I watched him wipe the blood away, my anger refusing to ease.

"As you should be. What I did to you wasn't nearly enough."

Steven slowly brought a hand to his nose, wincing at the slightest touch. "I think you broke my nose—and probably a few ribs."

"You're lucky that's all I did." I shook my head, disappointment settling over me. "I don't even recognize the man sitting in front of me."

"Come on, Wilson. I need a hospital."

I stared at him, disgust twisting in my stomach. I could barely stand to look at him, let alone call him my brother.

For a moment, I considered walking away and leaving him to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But no matter how angry I was, I couldn't leave him there. He was still my brother.

I helped him to his feet and guided him outside. We flagged down a cab, and I helped him into the back seat before getting in beside him.

"Hospital," I told the driver.

Steven leaned back against the seat, clutching his ribs while I stared out the window.

Neither of us said a word. I had nothing left to say to him.

By the time we reached the hospital, Steven looked exhausted. The doctors examined him and confirmed the damage. He had several cracked ribs, a fractured forearm, and a severely fractured nose.

"I listened quietly as the doctor explained the extent of his injuries."

"His ribs are badly fractured," he explained. "Right now, breathing is extremely difficult for him. We're going to need to put him on a ventilator to help him breathe while his ribs heal. It will take some pressure off his chest and allow his body to recover."

There was no question how he'd gotten them.

And even now, knowing how badly I'd hurt him, I don't regret stopping him. Whatever guilt I felt, it couldn't outway the knowledge that I'd had no other choice.

The doctor's questions felt more like an interrogation than a medical assessment. Every question made my stomach tighten, especially with two police officers standing nearby.

Once the questions were over, the doctor turned his attention back to me.

They wanted to know what had happened to Steven.

The gave the same answer every time.

I had just gotten home. I found him like this. I brought him straight to the hospital.

The story was repeated so many times that eventually, the words started sounding real.

Every sound in the hallway made me tense. Every set of footsteps approaching the room had me wondering if the police had figured it out. What if they were coming back with more questions? What if someone had seen me in the alley?

My mind raced.

The last thing I needed was for the police to uncover the truth.

Whatever happened next, I knew I'd done the right thing—and if I had to, I'd do it all over again.

And now I had to protect the secret.

I wasn't leaving him alone—not until I knew he was awake and we had our story straight.

I pulled a chair closer to Steven's bed and sat down, determined to stay until he woke up. When he did, I'd make sure we were ready.

I couldn't afford for either of us to say the wrong thing.

Not with the police watching.

We could both go to jail.

Steven for attempted r**e. Me for the brutal assault that stopped him.

The thought made the air in the room feel suffocating. Steven was finally on a ventilator, the adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins replaced by a cold dread that settled deep in my chest.

But guilt wasn't what I felt.

Every blow I'd landed had been necessary. Still, seeing him lying there, battered and broken, I struggled to see the little brother I had once promised to protect in the man lying in that hospital bed.

Back in Pakistan, Steven had been the golden thread that seemed to hold our family together. As the youngest of four, he was the baby of the family—a role my siblings and I happily embraced by spoiling him at every opportunity.

He could turn an ordinary afternoon into a performance, whether he was putting on some ridiculous routine in the courtyard or keeping everyone entertained around the dinner table. Steven had always been the life of every gathering, his smile and playful nature impossible to miss.

That was the brother I remembered.

The boy who could make all of us laugh.

For years, my older brother and I had taken it upon ourselves to protect our family, especially our sister. At twenty, she was expected to marry into a prestigious family, a match that had been arranged to secure our family's future.

Then we discovered she was secretly seeing another man.

Someone our family considered beneath her.

What began as an attempt to end the relationship quickly spiraled out of control. Tempers flared, voices were raised, and before long, things had gone far beyond what any of us had intended.

We panicked.

With our hearts pounding and the weight of what we'd done settling over us, my brothers and I fled into the night.

A few days later, I packed up my things and left with Steven. He was only sixteen, and I promised our parents I'd look after him.

I kept that promise.

But somewhere between then and now, something changed.

For years, I'd tried to understand how the kind, funny boy I remembered had become someone so possessive and controlling toward women. I'd gone over it in my mind countless times, searching for some explanation, some moment I might have missed.

Since coming to this country, he'd harassed at least six women that I knew of.

Six.

And I'd always hoped I could somehow get through to him before things went any further.

Now there was no more denying it.

The abuse had to stop.

Steven had never gone this far before. He had crossed a line tonight that could never be uncrossed.

Never in a million years did I imagine he would become the man lying in front of me.

I looked at him lying in the hospital bed, and the weight of what I'd done finally began to sink in.

I hadn't meant to hurt him this bad.

My hands trembled as I ran my fingers through my hair and dragged them down my face. This wasn't some stranger I'd beaten in an alley.

This was my baby brother.

Tears blurred my vision as I watched his chest rise and fall beneath the hospital sheets, the steady rhythm of the machines beside him filling the silence.

He looked so small.

So broken.

And for the first time that night, I allowed myself to wonder if I had failed him somewhere along the way.

I needed to be here.

Watching.

Waiting.

Because when Steven woke up, he might remember everything.

The attack.

The fight.

Me.

I had no idea what he'd say when he opened his eyes and that was a problem.

I needed to make sure we were telling the same story. That whatever he remembered, his version matched mine.

Because if it didn't, we were both in trouble and I couldn't let that happen.

For the next month, I barely left Steven's side, surrounded by beeping monitors, sterile hallways, and the lingering smell of antiseptic.

One day the doctor gave me some good news.

"If his condition continues to improve, we can try waking him in about two weeks."

"Can you give me an exact date?" I asked, glancing past him at Steven lying motionless in the bed.

The doctor studied me for a moment. "We can give you a more definite timeline after the CT scan."

"A CT scan?"

"Yes. It's scheduled for three days from now. The results will help us determine our next course of action."

I nodded, my eyes returning to Steven.

Three days.

I could wait three days.

A week later, the doctors began gradually tapering off the sedatives. Over the next few days, I watched as they closely monitored his breathing and vital signs, waiting to see how his body responded.

By the middle of the week, they began weaning him off the ventilator.

Then, two days later, Steven finally stirred.

I was at his bedside when his fingers moved.

I immediately reached for his hand.

"Steven," I whispered. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered. Slowly, heavily, they opened, and his unfocused gaze drifted around the room before finally settling on me.

He tried to speak, but the attempt ended in a ragged rasp.

"Don't talk," I whispered, leaning closer. "let me get you some water."

His lips were dry and cracked. I reached for the plastic cup on the bedside table and held the straw to his mouth.

He took a shallow sip, swallowing with obvious difficulty.

Once I set the cup back down, I leaned over the bedrail.

My voice dropped.

"You need to listen to me."

"Do you remember what happened?" I asked quietly. "Blink twice if you do."

He stared at me for a moment before his eyelids slowly closed.

Once.

Twice.

My chest tightened.

He remembered.

"Good. Now listen carefully." My hand tightened around the bedrail. "You can't tell them what really happened. If you do, you're going to jail. Do you understand?"

His eyes remained fixed on mine.

Two slow blinks.

"You're going to tell them you were attacked. You don't know who did it, and you have no idea how you ended up back at the house. That's all you remember. Is that clear?"

Two more blinks.

I held his gaze for another moment, making sure he understood.

"Good."

I finally straightened and smoothed the front of my shirt, trying to steady myself.

"I'll go get the doctor."