Chapter 12 – Cracks in the House

For months, the woods had been quiet.

No laughter. No shapes moving between the trees. The horror that had once clung to them had thinned out. Life started to return to something that looked like normal, though they never truly felt it.

Melvin buried himself in his books, though his eyes often drifted toward the window, searching for movement he no longer admitted he feared. Abby did her best to keep to herself. Mr. Han remained steady, fixing things around the house, working on his farm—a quiet protector who watched over them both.

It was an unsettling peace.

That moment came one evening.

Abby was in the drawing room, wiping dust from the tables and shelves. As she worked, her cloth caught the edge of a frame resting on the shelf. It tipped and fell, crashing to the floor. The glass shattered across the wooden boards.

It was her father’s framed photograph—the one of him standing beside his own father.

Her mother rushed in at the sound. The moment she saw the broken frame, her face hardened. She scolded Abby, her words sharp and cutting, and then she called for her husband.
Abby stood frozen, staring at the broken frame on the floor.

“What have you done? Do you have any respect for your father’s things? That photograph was important!”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Abby whispered.

Before she could say more, heavy footsteps came from the hall. Her father filled the doorway, his eyes narrowing at the sight.

“What happened here?”

“She broke it,” her mother snapped, pointing to Abby. “The picture of you and your father.”

His jaw tightened. He stepped forward, glaring down at Abby. “Do you know what that meant to me? That was the only one left.”

“I’m sorry,” Abby stammered, her voice barely audible.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it!” His voice cracked like a whip, and the sudden roar made Melvin flinch from the next room. He grabbed Abby’s wrist, too rough, pulling her to her feet. “You’re careless. Always breaking things. Do you think this house is yours to ruin?”

“Please—I didn’t—” Abby tried to explain, but his grip only tightened.

“I’ll need to find a shop that can fix this.” He dragged her outside and said, “Now I can’t finish my work. Cut those grass and get firewood before I’m back.”

“Enough.”

It was Mr. Han. His face calm but his eyes sharp.

“Let her go,” Mr. Han said quietly.

Abby’s father turned, his expression darkening. “This is my house, Han. My daughter. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“And it’s a house full of cracks,” Han replied. “I fix your fences. Your fields. Even your roof when the storm tore through. But the worst cracks are the ones you make yourself.”

Her father bristled. “Don’t lecture me.”

“Then don’t treat her like this,” Han shot back, stepping forward now. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. “What did she even do to deserve this kind of treatment from her own parents? She’s a child. Not your enemy.”

For a moment, the two men locked eyes.

Abby’s father let out a sharp breath and released her wrist. Abby stumbled back, clutching her hand against her chest, tears stinging her eyes.

“Get out of my sight,” her father muttered, turning away, his voice shaking with anger.

Han crouched down beside Abby. He looked at her with a faint smile. “Don’t worry. No one suffers forever. It’s only temporary. You’re strong, Abby.”

Abby’s mother said nothing. She only stood rigid near the door, her lips pressed tight.

Han rose to his feet, his presence filling the air in a way Abby’s father couldn’t silence. “I’ll be near if you need me,” he said softly to Abby and Melvin, then turned to leave.