You were walking home; your cheek was bruised, your lip cut, and a deep pain throbbed in your head. No matter how hard you tried to defend yourself, two girls had held your hands tightly while the ringleader delivered the blows.

School had become a living hell. You just wanted to attend classes quietly and come home, but that seemed impossible. You wanted to cry so hard your lungs might burst. Having a normal day had become a distant dream. Everything felt like it was conspiring against you, yet you had no one to turn to - so you endured.

After minutes of painful walking, you reached your house, hesitating at the door. Isaac would notice. He always did. But you still hoped he wouldn't. Slowly, you took out your key, opened the door, removed your shoes, and called out in a voice lacking its usual energy: "Hey, I'm home." You pushed your hair forward, trying to conceal the worst of the bruising. Isaac appeared from the kitchen, smiling until he saw you properly. As he approached, his expression darkened with concern. He gently brushed your hair aside and asked quietly, "What happened to your face?"