Nemesis. Start on the End.

I couldn't stop the anger that surged through me as I saw her standing there. My mother. Talking to some man outside our apartment.

It wasn't the first time I'd caught her talking to someone, but this one was different. This one felt wrong. Too close. Too familiar.

My mind was still foggy, disoriented, like I had just woken up from a nightmare. But no, this wasn't a nightmare. This was reality. And reality hurt more than any dream ever could.

I hated the way my chest tightened at the sight of him. A man. Standing too close to my mother, his voice too smooth, too confident. He was trying to get into her life, just like every other man who'd come and gone before. They all wanted something from her. I was the one who had always been there for her—her son. And yet here he was, talking to her like he had some claim to her.

I could feel the rage bubbling up in me, and I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

The memories hit me like a ton of bricks. I remembered the betrayal—the girl who had lied to me, who had used me and thrown me away like I was nothing. I could still hear her words, ringing in my ears: "You're too much. You need to change." She left me, just like everyone else.

And then the memories turned darker, colder. I thought about my mother. I thought about how she had always been there for me, how she had put everything on hold for me. But now, seeing her with this man, it all twisted inside of me.

I wanted to scream at her. To tell her how much I hated her for doing this. I wanted to accuse her of being just like every other woman I'd ever known—a liar. A cheater. A traitor. Maybe she was just waiting for her chance to get rid of me, just like that girl had.

I didn't know why it hurt so much. Maybe because I had always protected her, always tried to be strong for her, but deep down I feared she would betray me too. That she would let me down.

I moved closer to them, my heart pounding in my chest, but as I got closer, I saw something strange in her expression. She wasn't arguing with him. She wasn't smiling, either. She was just... listening. Listening to everything he said.

And that's when I realized.

She wasn't agreeing with him. She wasn't even speaking.

It was almost like she was passive, like she was letting him talk.

My mind raced. What was she doing? Why wasn't she defending me? Why was she letting this man speak about me like that?

The man was telling her how problematic I was, how I had quit my job and shut myself off from the world. How I wasn't good enough. That she should just send me away to boarding school, or kick me out altogether, so she could live her life without the burden of having to care for me.

My fists clenched tighter. What the fuck was he saying about me? Who the hell did he think he was?

"You know," he continued, his voice like gravel, "your son's a lost cause. He's quit his job, he's not going anywhere. Maybe it's time to face the truth. You can't fix him. You need to let him go. You deserve better than this."

My chest tightened, and a spike of betrayal hit me hard in the gut. He was talking about me, but worse than that, he was talking about her, too. Like she needed to get rid of me to be happy. He wanted her all to himself. He wanted me gone.

I couldn't hear the rest. My rage was drowning out everything else.

I took a few steps forward, unable to contain it any longer, but I froze when I heard my mother speak.

Her voice, calm yet firm, cut through the anger and confusion.

"Anything else?" she asked.

The man faltered for a second, as if he hadn't expected her to speak at all. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something more, maybe press her to follow through with his advice. But then, something unexpected happened.

Without another word, she turned her back on him and walked toward the door.

He looked confused, a little stunned, and then, just like that, she slammed the door in his face.

The sound of it echoed through the hallway, and I couldn't help but let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

She hadn't listened to him. She hadn't even given him the time of day.

She chose me. She chose her son.

My heart was still racing, but the weight in my chest began to lift. I didn't know what to feel—anger, relief, confusion. But something had shifted. The way she had shut the door in his face, the way she had chosen to protect me—it made me realize something I wasn't ready to admit.

She wasn't just my mother. She was mine.

And that kiss. The one that had been an accident—where our lips met in that moment of weakness—had marked something inside me. It had changed me. No longer was I just her son. I was her protector.

I wasn't going to let anyone take her from me. Not now, not ever.

I glanced down at my hands. No longer shaking with fear, they were steady, cold, and full of purpose. I wasn't a boy anymore. I wasn't the same person I used to be. I was a man now. And no one—especially not some pathetic man who thought he could control her—was going to take her from me.

As I stood there, still basking in the realization of how much I had to protect, the man's sharp voice cut through the air. I hadn't noticed him turning back toward me, but there he was, his face twisted with anger as he marched toward me like I owed him the world.

"You think you can just quit your job and leave everyone hanging?" he spat, his voice filled with venom. "Do you know how hard your mother works to keep this place running, and you—what? You just decide to make her life harder? Do you even care about her?"

I froze for a moment, his words hitting me like a hammer. He didn't know anything about me. About us. About what I'd been through. My hand curled into a fist at my side, but I stayed quiet. I didn't want to escalate this. Not here, not now. My priority was getting back to my family—safe, secure, and ready to face whatever came next.

But he didn't stop. He stepped closer, his finger jabbing in my direction, his voice rising with every word.

"She deserves better than you," he continued, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're just some lazy kid who doesn't appreciate what he has. She told me about how you've been acting—how you're shutting down, quitting everything, making her life miserable. Do you even know how much she worries about you? You're nothing but a burden."

That was it. The dam broke.

Before I could even think, my hand shot forward, connecting with his nose in one fluid motion. The impact reverberated through my arm, and the man staggered back, clutching his face as blood began to drip down his fingers.

"What the—!" he choked out, stumbling as his balance faltered. His eyes were wide with shock, but mine were burning with anger. I stepped forward, my body tense, ready for whatever came next.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—my mother. She was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. The man turned to her, his face a mess of blood and frustration, and she froze for a moment before her expression hardened.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice calm but firm as her gaze shifted between the two of us.

The man pointed at me, his voice trembling with anger. "He—he just attacked me! Do you see what kind of a son you've raised? He's out of control! He's—"

"That's enough," she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. She stepped forward, her hands on her hips as she stared him down. "You've said more than enough. I think it's time for you to leave."

"But—"

"Leave," she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The man hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between us, but when she stepped closer, her expression unyielding, he finally turned and began to walk away, muttering curses under his breath. I watched him go, my heart still pounding, my hand throbbing from the impact.

When he was finally out of sight, my mother turned to me, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't look angry—not exactly—but there was something in her eyes that made my stomach twist.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, her voice low but steady. "Do you think fighting solves anything? Do you think that's what I want to see when I look at you?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say. I hadn't meant for it to happen—it was like my body moved on its own, reacting before my brain could catch up.

"I... I just couldn't let him talk about you like that," I muttered, my gaze dropping to the floor. "He doesn't know anything about us. About me."

Her expression softened slightly, but she didn't move. For a moment, there was only silence between us, heavy and suffocating. Then, with a sigh, she stepped forward and gently took my injured hand in hers.

"You can't fight everyone who says something you don't like," she said quietly, her fingers brushing over my knuckles. "I know you're angry, and I know you're going through something, but this... this isn't the way. You're better than this."

Her words stung more than the pain in my hand, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I let her guide me back inside, her grip firm but gentle.

As we stepped into the apartment, I glanced back toward the hallway, where the man had disappeared. My anger hadn't completely faded, but it was tempered now, replaced by something else. Determination. Resolve.

The apartment was dim, quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator. My sister slept peacefully on the couch, unaware of the storm brewing in my chest. I flexed my hand, the dull ache from earlier still lingering, as the ice pack numbed my skin.

Across the room, she stood by the counter, her back to me. No... not "Mom." Not really. The truth of her identity burned in my mind, but it didn't matter. She had been more of a mother to me than anyone ever could have been.

She busied herself with the ice tray, though I could see the tension in her shoulders, the stiffness in her movements. I knew she was upset—not just about the fight, but about the kiss.

Finally, she turned and placed another ice pack on the table in front of me. Her gaze flickered to my face before darting away. "Here," she said, her tone sharp. "And I mean it—no more fighting. What's gotten into you?"

I stayed silent, staring at the table. What could I say? That I had lived another life, been betrayed, and died in a future that didn't exist yet? That everything I did now was driven by a desperate need to protect them? She wouldn't understand. Not yet.

She sighed, frustration lacing her voice. Turning her back to me again, she started rinsing something in the sink. The silence stretched, suffocating, until she broke it.

"About earlier..." she began, her voice softer now. "That... kiss. It was an accident, right? We're mother and son. That's all we are."

I tensed, the words clawing at my composure. "I know the truth," I said suddenly, my voice cutting through the quiet.

She froze, her hands gripping the edge of the sink. Slowly, she turned to face me, her expression guarded. "What truth?"

"I know you're not my real mother," I said, my voice calm but deliberate. "My biological mom died the day my sister and I were born. You're her sister. My aunt."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't speak.

"You've been more than a mother to me," I continued, standing now, the ice pack forgotten on the table. "You raised me. You sacrificed everything for me and my sister. But you're not just a mother to me. You're mine."

Her lips parted, her breath hitching. "What... are you saying?"

"I'm saying you belong to me now," I said, stepping closer. My voice was steady, unyielding. "Not just as my family, but as mine. You've always been mine. I see it now."

She stared at me, her expression shifting from shock to anger. "I'm not your property," she said, her voice trembling with indignation. "I'm your family—your mother. That's all."

"No," I said firmly. "You're more than that. You're everything. My responsibility. My anchor. My property. No one will ever take you or my sister away from me. I won't allow it."

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes glistening with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, disbelief. "You're not thinking straight," she whispered. "You've been through too much. You're... confused."

"I've never been more clear," I replied, my tone unwavering. "I lost everything once. I'm not going to lose it again. You're safe with me now. Both of you."

Her face hardened, and she took a step back. "This isn't right," she said, her voice breaking. "We're family. That's all this is supposed to be. You're turning me into... into an object."

"You're mine," I said simply. "And I'll protect what's mine."

Her anger boiled over then. "I am not something you can lock away!" she snapped, her voice sharp and defiant. "I'm not yours. I'm your family—your mother. And you're losing yourself in this madness."

I stayed silent, letting her words wash over me. She didn't understand. Not yet. But she would. In time, she'd see that everything I did was for her—for us.

She turned abruptly and walked toward the door. "I need to think," she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Stay here. Watch over your sister."

I watched her go, the sound of the door closing echoing in the quiet apartment. My chest was heavy with the weight of her anger, but I didn't regret what I'd said. She needed to know. She needed to understand.

I looked at my sister, still sleeping peacefully. She was mine, too—my responsibility, my blood. No one would touch them. No one would harm them.

I would become whatever I had to be. For them.