A Line a Mother Can't Bear to Cross

"Mother… wait."

Victor didn't raise his voice, didn't command her — he simply held her hand a little tighter, fingers curling around her wrist with a gentleness that still carried undeniable weight.

Anna stopped. Her body stiffened just enough to betray the storm swirling inside her. She slowly turned toward him, and when her gaze met his, her brows were already pulling together in a troubled, defensive furrow.

"Victor…" she said, her voice low, "didn't we already talk about this? I told you about my past. I told you why I don't want you participating in the Winter Competition." Her tone hardened, the edge of a mother's fear sharpening every word. "You said you understood. You said you'd stop asking me for permission to go."

Victor nodded. "Yes, Mother. I did."

"Then why—"

"But," he cut in softly, "you also said I'm old enough to decide what I want to do. That I should understand what I choose."

Anna's lips tightened. "Victor—"

"Mom," he said — and the word mom softened the entire room. "Hear me out."

She froze again.

Victor took a breath and lifted his gaze, holding hers without flinching.

"Just like you said… there's my family. And there's someone out there who tried to kill you."

A low pulse flickered behind his eyes — that dangerous purple glow he couldn't hide when emotion flared.

His jaw clenched.

"I don't want this to be just another… cold, petty matter," he said. "I want revenge for you."

Anna flinched, a sharp, instinctive recoil — not from fear of him, but from fear for him.

Her voice came out stiff. "Victor, I don't want revenge. I've had enough of that for a lifetime. And I already said— you're not going. I won't let you."

Victor stepped closer.

"Mom… can you really stop me from going?"

The question wasn't disrespectful. It wasn't rebellious.

It was sad. Quiet. Honest.

That's what made it land like a blade.

Anna's breath hitched. Her fingers trembled. For a heartbeat, she looked like a woman pushed right up against the edge of a cliff she'd been avoiding for years.

"No," she whispered. "No, Victor. Not this time."

Before Victor could respond, another voice broke in.

"Let him try."

Ben.

His tone wasn't loud — but it carried a steady, grounded confidence that cut straight through the heavy tension.

Anna spun toward him. "Ben— don't."

Ben held up a hand, calm but firm. "He's not a child anymore, Anna. He's growing faster than either of us expected. And he's not asking to run off into a battlefield. He wants to face something because it matters to him."

"He's too young," Anna snapped.

Ben didn't back down. Not this time. He stepped in front of her, facing her directly.

"And he's also your son," he said quietly. "That means he'll walk toward danger whether you forbid him or not. He inherited that stubborn heart from you."

Ben held up a hand, calm but firm. "He's not a child anymore, Anna. He's growing faster than either of us expected. And he's not asking to run off into a battlefield. He wants to face something because it matters to him."

"He's too young," Anna snapped.

Anna's mouth parted — shocked, offended, furious — but words didn't come out.

Ben didn't let up.

"You want to protect him," he said, voice lowering, "I get it. I do. But protecting him doesn't mean locking him in a box and hoping the world forgets he exists."

Anna tried again. "I'm not—"

Ben shook his head. "Anna… please. Listen."

She hated it. She hated how calmly he spoke. She hated how strongly he stood. She hated how right he felt.

Victor watched her — watched the pain building, watched the fear twisting inside her, watched her heart struggle to hold itself together. Every second of her resistance cut deeper into him.

His mother — strong enough to face hell itself — was trembling because of him.

His chest tightened.

Anna finally broke the silence with a choked whisper.

"I don't want to lose him."

The confession sliced the air open.

Victor felt it like a blade straight to the heart.

Ben exhaled and stepped closer, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"You won't," he said softly.

Anna didn't answer. She just pressed her lips together, eyes hardening as she held back tears.

Victor's hands curled into fists.

He couldn't watch her fall apart like this.

He stepped forward, his voice low and painfully gentle. "Mother… I'm sorry."

She turned toward him slowly — her eyes red, her expression tight and refusing to let emotions spill out.

Victor continued. "I didn't mean to make you feel this. I never wanted to hurt you."

He reached out again, resting his hand lightly against the back of hers.

"I just— I want to protect you. All of you. And I can't do that if I stay blind and harmless behind your back."

Anna swallowed hard, breath shaky.

For a moment it seemed she might fold — shut everything down, shut him down, refuse him with all the force of a mother terrified of the future.

But before she could speak, Ben straightened suddenly.

Some realization flickered in his eyes — quick, sharp, decisive.

Victor noticed it.

Anna noticed it.

Anna swallowed hard, breath shaky.

For a moment it seemed she might fold — shut everything down, shut him down, refuse him with all the force of a mother terrified of the future.

But before she could speak, Ben straightened suddenly.

Some realization flickered in his eyes — quick, sharp, decisive.

Victor noticed it.

Anna noticed it.

Ben turned to his wife with a seriousness he rarely showed.

"…I have a way."

Anna blinked. "A way for what?"

Ben's gaze steadied, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips — confident, reassuring, quietly triumphant.

"A way for your worry," he said gently, "to finally come to an end, my love."

Anna froze.

Her breath caught.

"What… way?"

The room held its breath with her.

And the chapter ends right there.

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