The fight started like so many others—his voice raised, his words sharp. Leon’s temper had been fraying for weeks, and that night, it finally snapped.

His anger thundered through the walls of their home, shaking the fragile peace that once lived there. Frightened screams rang out, cutting through the haze of his fury, but it only fueled him further. Their son stood frozen in the corner, wide-eyed and trembling, clutching at the air as if holding onto something invisible for safety. His small voice cracked with terror, pleading for the shouting to stop.

But Leon was already gone. The red haze clouded his mind, drowning reason, twisting his love into violence. Each outburst, each violent motion was another nail in the coffin he couldn’t yet see being built.

And then—silence.

The room fell quiet, except for the sound of his own ragged breathing. The haze lifted just enough for him to see the scene before him: his wife lying still, her scream silenced. Their son, crumpled and lifeless where terror had overtaken innocence. His hands shook as he looked down at them, the weight of what he had done pressing on him like the world itself had collapsed.

“No...” The word tore from Leon’s throat, broken and hoarse. His knees buckled, and he collapsed beside them, reaching out as if he could somehow undo it, as if touch alone could bring them back. His chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. “No, no, no...”

Regret crashed into him, flooding every corner of his mind. He had killed the two people he loved most—the very ones he swore he’d protect. The rage that had once burned so brightly turned to ash, leaving nothing but horror and grief. He stayed there through the night, through the days that followed, unable to eat, unable to move, haunted by the silence that filled the home once filled with laughter.

When he finally collapsed from exhaustion, he welcomed the idea of never waking again.

But then he did.

Leon jolted upright in bed, his heart pounding, breath coming in short gasps. His eyes darted around wildly—expecting the silence, the emptiness, the blood. Instead, he heard it: the soft sound of movement in the kitchen, the light steps of his son running down the hall, the familiar hum of a home still alive.

He pressed a trembling hand to his face. The sunlight filtering through the curtains was warm, almost too bright, as though mocking the darkness he remembered.

“No...” he whispered again—but this time, with disbelief. He stumbled from the bed, feet dragging him toward the sound of life he thought he had destroyed. And there they were—his wife, alive and whole, his son’s laughter spilling through the air.

His knees nearly gave out. His throat tightened as tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He had been given another chance, dragged back to the moment before the disaster he created.

This time, Leon swore, he would never let rage take them from him again.