October, The Odd Ones

Today is the day.

I didn't sleep. Not even a little. I just lay there all night with my eyes wide open, my thoughts sprinting in circles—every outcome, every word that could be misheard, every twitch that could blow the whole thing sky-high. I thought about the plane, the car ride, the moment the sirens would start. I thought about October. Her silence. Her eyes. Her disappointment. I thought about how this might be the last thing I ever do with my father—and that, for once, it would actually mean something.

It's done. The groundwork is solid. The lawyer has every document, every thread of evidence. The police chief has the arrest warrants, the surveillance. Everything's in place. Every piece has been laid out like a chessboard before the final blow.

I'm just the bait.

I was pretending to work—staring at spreadsheets I couldn't see—when his voice cut through the room like a scalpel. "Are you done scribbling? Let's go. We've got a plane to catch."

I looked up slowly. He didn't wait. He never does. Just turned on his heel, walking out like he always owned the air between us. A man so smug he couldn't smell the gasoline soaking the floor under his shoes.

"Yes, Father," I muttered, so quietly it felt like praying.

He didn't look back. Just called over his shoulder, "Ride with Laura. She's already waiting in the car." Of course. One last ride with the accessory to my downfall. The ghost of every mistake I made in the shape of a woman who once made me feel  useful. Or flattered. Or something else I now hate myself for needing.

I grunted, jaw tight. Yes, Father.

I stepped outside, and there she was—Laura, lounging against the car like she was posing for a magazine shoot. Hair just right. Designer bag dangling from one wrist. Those sunglasses she wore like armor against reality. She smiled when she saw me. Smug. Like we were co-conspirators, and not moments away from the fallout of a war she didn't know she'd already lost.

"Oh good, you didn't chicken out," she said. "I had a bet going with myself."

I didn't respond. Just opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. My hands were slick with sweat, knuckles white where I gripped my knee. The air felt too thin.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
"Ready."
From the lawyer.
Then another:
"Wait for the signal. When we move, we move fast."
From the police chief.

My heart thudded once, hard enough I thought she might hear it.

She started talking the second we pulled away. "I'm honestly so glad we get this time in Portugal. You and me, relaxed, out of the city. It's going to be great. We both deserve it, don't you think?"

I stared straight ahead, willing my pulse to slow. Say nothing. Breathe. Just a few more minutes. She leaned in slightly. "You're quiet. Is this about your father-in-law yesterday? Honestly, what a drama queen."

I snapped. "Stop."

She blinked. "What?"

"Stop talking about my family. Don't say their names. Don't make jokes. Just—stop."

Her tone shifted. "What's gotten into you?"

I clenched my jaw, forced my voice to stay level. "Nothing."

She gave a short laugh. "Oh god, are you going to be like this the whole trip? Brooding in paradise?"

I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them. One breath. Then another. Almost there.
"No. I'm just... stressed."

"well," she said, oblivious, "good thing we're getting away. we'll have so much fun. I mean i kept suggesting going there for quite some time? it took your father to convince you."

"Sure."

The car rolled to a stop at the private airstrip. The jet was already waiting. My whole body was vibrating now, nerves and dread and cold fury. We stepped out of the car. I could see my father ahead, checking his watch, already impatient.

Then everything happened at once.

Sirens. Tires screeching. Helicopter blades slicing through the sky. Dozens of officers in plain clothes and uniforms swarming out from nowhere—like they'd risen out of the pavement itself. Guns drawn. Voices yelling.

Laura flinched, stepping toward me on instinct. I moved away without thinking.

The police chief stepped forward, nodding at me. "Thank you, Thomas. We've got it from here."

"Thomas! James! What is going on?" Laura shrieked, heels clacking unevenly against the marble as she rushed toward us, her voice rising with each syllable. "What the hell is this?!"

My father turned slowly, like a beast interrupted mid-feast. His eyes locked onto mine—cold, calculating, murderous. Even now, even in handcuffs, he radiated a terrifying stillness. But I didn't flinch.

"What is this?" he hissed, venom lining every syllable.

I stepped forward. "Can we have a moment with them, please?" I asked the officers.

One of the agents glanced at his partner, then nodded. "Make it quick."

I turned to face him—no more fear, no more shrinking. My voice was steady, sharper than I'd ever let it be with him before. "It's over, Father. You're done." He blinked, stunned, as if the words couldn't possibly be real. I stepped closer, each word deliberate. "Mom and I have been collecting evidence, building a case against you both for weeks. Emails, financial records, voice recordings. Every lie, every manipulation, every transaction you thought you buried—we've got it. And the authorities do too."

His expression twisted with incredulous disgust, like he'd just tasted something foul. "Your mother?" he spat. "That useless woman?"

Before I could reply, a sudden stillness cut through the air. Mom stepped forward from the shadows like judgment incarnate, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown. She carried herself like a blade—sharp, precise, and deadly. Her gaze was cool, cutting through the room with the calm fury of a storm just before it breaks.

She stopped a few feet from him, eyes burning with quiet rage. "Useless?" she repeated, her voice low, dangerous.

She took a single step closer.

"You would have been nothing without me," she said, every syllable crisp and deliberate. "I handled your messes. I swallowed your lies. I held our family together with trembling hands while you destroyed it piece by piece."

She paused, letting her words sink in. His mouth opened like he wanted to interrupt, but she cut him off with a glare so sharp it could've split stone.

"Useless?" Her laugh was bitter. "Darling, I was the reason anyone ever tolerated you. I made your cruelty palatable, your recklessness survivable. And now? Now you're just an aging coward with delusions of grandeur and no one left to clean up after you."

He flinched, barely—but it was there. Jeanine leaned in, her voice a whisper soaked in steel. "So enjoy prison, you arrogant idiot. Because for the first time in your life, you'll have no one to lie to, cheat on, or belittle. Just you and the rotting echo of what you could've been."

Then she stopped in front of Laura, cool eyes raking her over like she was something unpleasant smeared on an expensive rug.

"You know," Jeanine began, her voice deceptively soft, laced with venom, "I used to think maybe you were different. That maybe you were the one who meant something to him. That you were the one he actually cared for."

Laura's lips parted, her eyes wide with confusion. She took a half-step back.

"But you weren't," Jeanine continued, ice in her tone now. "You're not special. You're not clever. You're just one in a long, tired line of cheap replacements—disposable distractions he used until they were used up. You think you are the only one he promised to make CEO? please, you're just another body he draped over his ego like a suit that never quite fit."

Laura's face crumpled, her mascara smudging as tears welled up. Then she straightened, turned on her heel without another glance, and walked away—leaving silence and shame in her wake.

"I—I didn't do anything!" Laura stammered, voice cracking. "This wasn't my fault, James, tell them! I didn't know—"

"I will destroy both of you idiots!" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip through the room. Then he turned on me, lip curling in disgust. "My God, you are a forever disappointment."

I flinched—couldn't help it—but it didn't surprise me. The venom in his voice was familiar, a tune he'd played for years. The words still stung, but they didn't penetrate like they used to.

Then I felt it—a steady, grounding pressure. A manly hand on my shoulder. Warm. Certain.

Joseph leaned in and whispered, quiet but fierce, "I've got you."

Then he straightened, voice rising like a slow burn into the room's cold silence.

"Wow," Joseph said, clapping slowly, deliberately, every smack of palm against palm echoing with contempt. "The Devil and his demonic muse—how touching. I didn't realize we were doing a costume party tonight. Should I grab pitchforks, or just burn this whole place down for ambiance?" He took a step forward, eyes locked on them both. "well, it is Hell's hottest couple. Come on, did you bring marshmallows? Or just the flames of generational trauma?"

My father's face darkened, jaw twitching with fury, but Joseph didn't flinch. He stood tall beside me, defiant, his sarcasm cutting through years of fear like a blade. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

"Go to hell, Joseph," my dad said coldly, his voice slicing through the tension in the room like a blade.

Joseph raised an eyebrow, smirking as if he'd been waiting for the invitation. "No, thanks, Satan. Appreciate the offer, really—but I've got brunch later. Somewhere with actual flavor and fewer morally bankrupt ex-heroes lurking in the corners."

He brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve, eyes flashing with the kind of arrogant charm that had always made my skin crawl.

"But you," he added with a venom-laced grin, "you go ahead. Take that flavorless, pathologically repressed, patchouli-scented witch with you. God, You two have the charisma of a cold omelette and the ethics of a malware pop-up. It's honestly impressive."

My dad's jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides.  " Call my lawyers!" My father screamed.

"Yeah, it won't do you much good, no one would answer if they want to keep their jobs," I said, voice steady.

The old man sneered, his eyes full of venom. "Don't be stupid as usual. I will destroy you all."

Before I could answer, Joseph stepped forward like a showman taking center stage. He clapped his hands once, mock-enthusiastically. "Oh, please. Destroy? You've been trying to play god with the emotional toolkit of a broken Roomba. All you will do is spin in circles and bump into your own failures." He turned to face him fully, arms wide, grin wicked. "It takes a real masterpiece of failure—a father and a man—to make his entire family look at him and feel nothing but disgust. Congratulations, that's not disappointment anymore, that's legacy-level loathing. You're like a fine wine—bitter, overestimated, and best forgotten in a cellar."

He pivoted smoothly as Laura started inching away, trying to fade into the shadows. "Don't even try it, doll, cops are everywhere," he said, raising a hand to stop her like he was directing traffic. 

"I honestly don't understand how any man would willingly want you," Joseph said, raising an eyebrow like he was inspecting something that smelled bad. "You . hurt. my . baby. You! How? You've got the charm of a boardroom execution, the warmth of a tax audit, and the personality of a malfunctioning printer.  Seriously, you're like if Botox became sentient and decided to ruin lives. And that laugh? It's like someone trying to reboot a fax machine with trauma. No wonder he likes you—birds of a joyless feather, huh?" He gave a dramatic shiver. 

Laura froze, blinking like she'd been slapped with a dictionary. I chuckled. 

"Thomas?" Laura's voice was barely a whisper, fragile and strained. Her eyes searched mine, wide with disbelief—as if she still thought she could talk her way out of this, as if I might protect her.

"I understand, Laura," I said quietly. "You wanted power. You wanted the title, the prestige, the money. You wanted to be CEO, to be seen. Fine."

She blinked, lips parting slightly, but I kept going, the weight of every regret pressing against my chest.

"But you didn't have to do it like this. You didn't have to use me. You didn't have to weasel your way into my life and pretend to care. But that part—that's on me. All of it. You never would've gotten in if I hadn't opened the damn door myself. I was the fool. The idiot who let his ego talk louder than his instincts. I fell for the attention of a successful woman because I was starving for validation. And you knew exactly how to feed that hunger."

Her expression twisted with desperation, venom leaking into her voice.

"You think you're innocent? I'll bring you down with me!" My dad yelled.

I shook my head slowly, the fight gone from my body but the truth settling in my bones like iron.

"If you can, go ahead. Try. But you won't. I already lost what mattered most. I lost her. The life we built. The family I took for granted. So believe me when I say—I have nothing left to lose." I said, my voice steady, though my chest felt like it was caving in. "It's over. You're done. You'll rot in jail and finally pay for everything you did."

I waited the satisfaction to hit. For that righteous surge of triumph. But it didn't come.

"The sad thing is," I added quietly, "I'm not even happy seeing you fall. I thought I'd feel something—relief, maybe. Justice. But all I feel is empty."

He laughed—a bitter, grating sound that used to make me freeze as a child.

"You always were soft," he spat. "No spine. No bite."

Then his expression twisted into something crueler—harsher than even I expected.

"You will always be the worst thing in my life, Thomas," he snarled. "The biggest failure I ever produced. Stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Useless. At least your sister had the balls to leave. But you?" He stepped closer, sneering now. "You've always been like dirt in my shoes. A stain I could never wash out."

Every word felt like a hammer to my chest, but I didn't flinch—not this time. His lip curled, but the bravado faltered. Just for a moment, I saw something behind his eyes—fear, maybe. Or the realization that his empire, built on cruelty, was crumbling.

"I hope you remember this moment for the rest of your life," I said, my voice cracking. "Not because I won. But because you lost me. Forever."

Behind us, the officers stepped forward, ready to take him away.

Joseph stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the officers approaching Laura and James like it was the season finale of a drama he'd been following for years. He tilted his head with theatrical thoughtfulness, eyes twinkling with smug satisfaction.

"Oww," he said, dragging out the word with faux sympathy. "I should've brought snacks. Maybe some popcorn. Watching your little empire crumble like a stale cookie? Honestly better than cable."

As Laura shrieked about lawyers and James hissed curses under his breath, Joseph barely contained his grin. He leaned in a bit, stage-whispering to one of the officers, "Make sure they ride separately. Wouldn't want them conspiring."

Laura tried to throw one last glare over her shoulder, but Joseph waved like she was boarding a cruise.

"Bye Laura! Orange jumpsuits, iron bars, and roommates who don't care about your daddy issues—finally, a place where you can truly shine!"

He looked at James, eyes narrowing. "And you? Enjoy prison, Father of the Century. You'll finally have an audience that has to listen to you. Try not to cry when they don't clap."

Then he turned to me, still smirking but with a warmth behind his sarcasm. "God, I feel lighter already. It's like someone finally flushed the toilet."

As the officers stepped in my father's eyes darted between them, his jaw tightening. One of the officers—tall, stone-faced, unreadable—spoke calmly, firmly. "Mr. Lemaire, we need you to come with us."

But my father didn't move.

"You can't do this to me, YOU CAN'T" he growled then turned to me, "You are pathetic, Thomas, do you hear me?" he spat, his voice rising like bile. "You will always be the same stupid, pathetic excuse of a man. You hear me? She should've had that damned abortion. I wish—I wish I never had you."

His words didn't just vanish into the air—they splintered through it, sharp and final, like glass breaking in a cathedral. The officers finally took them away.

But my eyes didn't move, and my father's words melted into static. Like the world had shifted underwater—distant, muffled, slow. My limbs felt foreign, like I was borrowing this body from someone else. Someone less broken.

Because something inside me had cracked. Not a clean break, a messy, jagged snap. Like part of me had just... died.

My breath came in sharp, choppy gasps. I wasn't even sure I was breathing anymore, or if my body was just panicking, trying to remember how to keep me alive. I turned and walked, stumbling back on legs that suddenly felt too thin to carry a lifetime of shame. And then—

Joseph.

His hand gripped my shoulder—firm, grounding, real. In one motion he pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe, and I wanted to melt into it, vanish in the warmth, in the safety.

But I didn't know how. I didn't know how to be held. I didn't know how to be comforted. So I stood there, stiff, like a child locked in time. Then Joseph leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes, his voice low and steady:

"Breathe, son. Breathe. I'm here. I've got you."

And I broke.

I clung to him, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate strength, like I was afraid he might disappear if I let go. My head collapsed into his chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself fall. Not just physically—but completely, unapologetically. Into him. Into safety. Into the one place where gravity finally made sense.

My whole body trembled as the sobs came, not loud, but deep—guttural. The kind that come from a place words can't touch.

I gasped for air, my chest heaving in ragged rhythm.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
His voice echoed in my mind, steady and patient.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
His hands stayed firm on my back, grounding me like anchors in a storm.