January 5th, 1985
Williams Apartment, Brooklyn Greenwood Heights, 42nd Street Avenue
Oliver instinctively reached out across the bed, only to find it empty. His drowsy eyes blinked open, focusing on the vacant space where his wife usually lay. A brief moment of confusion passed before the events of the previous day returned to him—Alexander, his youngest son, had finally woken up from a six-month coma following a near-fatal incident.
Sitting up, Oliver let out a slow breath, a rare smile flickering across his otherwise stern face. But as quickly as it appeared, it faded. While Alex had regained consciousness, his dazed, unresponsive state lingered in Oliver's mind. The boy's blank stare, his silence—it unsettled him. Shaking his head, Oliver exhaled heavily and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He wore only a pair of black and gray striped sleep pants, revealing a well-built upper body—years of construction work and dedicated gym sessions had forged his physique. But his back told a different story, marred with scars that stretched up to his neck, each one a testament to hardships long past.
Pulling on a gray shirt, Oliver glanced at the clock. It was still early, but he needed to shower, eat, and head to work. Today's schedule was light—just a general inspection of the site and a report to their overseer, lasting only a few hours until noon.
Stepping into the bathroom, he turned on the water and took a cold shower, letting it jolt him fully awake. His mind drifted back to his wife and son at the hospital. Martha and Duke had stayed overnight, keeping an eye on Alex. Hopefully, there had been some improvement.
After drying off, he stepped into the hallway and immediately spotted Ashley mopping the floor. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a tight bun, strands clinging to her forehead from exertion. She looked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening and flashed a bright smile.
"Good morning, Daddy."
"Morning," Oliver replied with a small nod, his deep voice carrying a familiar roughness.
"You're up early, as always," she noted, pausing to wring out the mop.
"And you're busy, as always," Oliver countered.
Ashley grinned. "Jennifer's making your breakfast. You better hurry before it gets cold."
Oliver considered asking if either of his daughters had heard any updates from the hospital but decided against it. He would call Martha himself before leaving. Either way, they were all planning to visit Alex later in the day.
With that thought, he turned and headed back into his room. He dressed quickly—blue denim jeans, sturdy brown boots, and a brown-and-black checkered long-sleeve shirt over a white undershirt. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he made his way toward the kitchen.
Upon entering, he found a plate neatly prepared for him—pancakes with a side of eggs, two sausages, and crispy bacon. A glass sat empty beside a pitcher of orange juice. He poured himself a drink, took a slow sip, then grabbed the plate and walked into the living room.
As he settled onto the couch, the sound of movement outside drew his attention. Through the glass balcony door, he spotted Jennifer hanging laundry, methodically shaking out each piece before pinning it to the line.
Oliver turned back to the television, flipping to CNN. The low hum of the broadcast filled the room as he absently twirled his fork in his eggs, his mind already drifting back to the hospital and the uncertain days ahead.
Suddenly, Oliver felt something brushing against his feet. Looking down, he found Strut, their family's black cat, gazing up at him with her wide, curious eyes. A look of surprise crossed his face as he met her stare. Strut let out a soft, demanding meow before patting his leg with her paw, clearly wanting something.
With a slight smirk, Oliver tore off a piece of bacon from his plate and lowered it to her. Strut wasted no time snatching it up, chewing happily.
Just then, Jennifer stepped inside from the balcony, carrying an empty laundry basket. She had caught the interaction between her usually stoic father and the cat, and amusement flickered across her face.
"You know Mom doesn't like it when we feed her from our plates," she teased.
Oliver glanced at her, a rare knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Well, this will be our little secret then."
His gaze drifted back to the cat, who was now licking her paw contentedly. A thought crossed his mind, one that had been lingering since he first spotted her.
"Where did you find her?" he asked.
From what he recalled, Strut had gone missing two months into Alex's coma. It was Duke who had first pointed it out, but at the time, everyone was too preoccupied with Alex's condition to search for long. After two weeks of fruitless searching and plastering missing posters all over the neighborhood, they had eventually given up.
Jennifer knelt down to pick up Strut from under her father's feet. "I found her on the balcony this morning," she explained, stroking the cat's fur.
Oliver nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's a good thing she found her way back. Alex is going to be happy to see her again."
At the mention of Alex's name, Strut's ears perked up. Her eyes locked onto Oliver, her gaze sharp and attentive. He chuckled softly, starting to get an idea of why she had disappeared in the first place.
Glancing at the time, Oliver stood up and stretched before heading toward the kitchen. "Once you and Ashley finish your chores, you should take her to the vet for a check-up."
"Alright, I'll let Ashley know," Jennifer replied, happily stroking Strut's fur as the cat purred in contentment.
"Good." Oliver placed his empty plate in the sink and dried his hands before turning back to her. "There's some money in the lower drawer of your mother's dresser for the vet bill."
Grabbing his keys from the counter, he made his way to the door. "Stay safe and remember to lock up before you leave, okay?"
Jennifer rolled her eyes playfully. "We know, Dad. Now go before you're late for work."
A barely audible chuckle escaped Oliver's lips as he stepped out, closing the door behind him. It seemed Jennifer was slowly starting to return to her usual self.
As the door clicked shut, Ashley emerged from the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. She glanced toward the front door, then turned to her sister.
"Did Daddy just leave?" she asked.
Strut, who had been resting on Jennifer's lap, suddenly leaped off and padded over to Ashley, rubbing affectionately against her leg. Jennifer frowned slightly—she had been enjoying their reunion after nearly three months apart.
Ashley scooped up the cat, cradling her gently. Strut snuggled into her chest, purring. "Did he say anything before he left?" she asked, absentmindedly running her fingers through the cat's fur.
"Yeah," Jennifer said, stretching as she stood up from her chair. "He told us to take Strut to the vet after we finish our chores."
Ashley nodded. "Makes sense. Let's hurry up and finish, then. We also need to bring food for Mom and Duke at the hospital." She set Strut back down on the floor, who immediately stretched before curling up beside the couch.
"Agreed," Jennifer said, rolling up her sleeves. "Let's get to work."
Brooklyn Hospital Center – 8:30 AM
Back at the hospital, while Ashley and Jennifer were busy with household chores, Martha stood in the hallway outside Alex's hospital room, speaking on the phone with her husband. He was on his way to a meeting at work.
"Yeah, everything is fine. No, he's still asleep. We'll call you if anything changes, okay? Drive safe. I love you... No, I want to hear you say it too. Alright, bye."
Ending the call, Martha sighed before stepping back into Alex's room. Inside, Duke sat beside his younger brother, engrossed in a book.
"You know, lying isn't a good thing," Duke remarked without looking up. "Isn't that what you and Dad always tell us?"
Martha raised an eyebrow as she took a seat across from the hospital bed. "Yes, and that also means knowing when to tell the truth at the right time."
Duke glanced at her, intrigued. "I see… and how exactly are we supposed to know the proper time?"
"You and your sisters are old enough to figure that out on your own," Martha replied with an all-knowing smile. "But let's just say, don't tell me something serious when I'm already occupied with something else."
Duke opened his mouth to argue but quickly realized his mother's words aligned with another lesson she always preached— There's a time and place for everything. Thinking about it, he had to admit it made sense.
As the mother and son continued their lighthearted conversation, Alex's eyebrows furrowed slightly. Though they spoke in hushed tones, the sound was enough to irritate his already pounding headache. Even beyond their conversation, his mind was overwhelmed with a chaotic flood of thoughts, swirling endlessly, making it difficult to focus.
Then, his eyes abruptly snapped open.
Martha and Duke froze in shock as Alex slowly sat up in his hospital bed. His gaze drifted between them, lingering slightly longer on the woman seated to his right. She looked vaguely familiar—warm, comforting, yet strangely intimidating.
Taking a steady breath, Alex opened his mouth and spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"Could you both kindly continue this conversation somewhere else? I'm currently dealing with a rather unsettling headache, and your discussion is making it worse."
His tone was polite, carefully worded to avoid offense. Especially toward the woman, who, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, gave him a deep sense of both security and an instinctual fear of displeasing her.
As his words settled in the room, Martha and Duke stared at him, their expressions mirroring each other—wide-eyed disbelief, as if he had just said something utterly absurd.
Alex hesitated. "...Uh-huh. Did I say something wrong?"
Worry crept into his voice. Had he spoken incorrectly? His words had seemed reasonable to him—logical, direct, and clear. Or perhaps… they didn't understand him? Was there some kind of communication issue?
5 Minutes Later— Alex Hospital Room
A soft knock at the door broke the stunned silence.
Dr. Reynolds calm yet authoritative presence filled the room, as he stepped inside. He carried a clipboard in one hand while adjusting his glasses with the other. His gaze flickered between the wide-eyed Martha, the silent Duke, and Alex, who now sat upright, looking back at him with clear awareness.
"I was called in for an urgent evaluation," Dr. Reynolds said, his voice professional but laced with curiosity. "What seems to be the—" He stopped mid-sentence as he truly took in Alex's posture, expression, and demeanor.
Martha quickly composed herself. "Doctor, he just—" She hesitated, still processing what had happened. "He woke up and… he spoke to us."
Dr. Reynolds furrowed his brows. "Spoke?" He turned his attention fully to Alex. "Alex, can you tell me how you're feeling?"
Alex met his gaze with an expression of mild discomfort, clearly aware of the attention on him. "I have a headache," he stated plainly. "And I'd really prefer if people weren't talking so loudly around me."
A long silence stretched across the room.
Duke gawked at his younger brother, while Martha covered her mouth, eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions. Dr. Reynolds, usually a man of composure, showed a rare flicker of surprise before quickly regaining his professional demeanor.
"Alex," he said carefully, flipping through the notes on his clipboard. "Can you answer a few questions for me?"
Alex sighed but nodded. "If it helps you figure out why my head feels like it's full of static, then sure."
Duke nearly choked. Static? Since when did Alex describe things so clearly?
Dr. Reynolds began a series of cognitive tests—simple math problems, object recognition, even a short-term memory recall exercise. Every answer Alex gave was fluid, precise, and, most notably, nothing like the struggling responses he would have given before.
Martha gripped her hands together, her heart racing.
For as long as they could remember, Alex had always struggled with an intellectual disability. Forming coherent thoughts, expressing himself properly—it had been a lifelong challenge. And yet, now, he was speaking with confidence, awareness, and clarity they had never seen before.
Dr. Reynolds finally set his clipboard down, exhaling slowly. "This… this is extraordinary." He looked between Martha and Duke. "I need to run more tests, but from what I can observe, Alex's cognitive abilities have drastically improved."
Martha blinked rapidly, trying to process his words. "Are you saying—?"
"Yes," Reynolds confirmed. "The Alex you knew before—his struggles with speech, comprehension, and processing information—they seem to be gone."
Before anyone could respond, the door swung open.
Oliver stepped inside, his face a mask of controlled urgency, with Jennifer and Ashley right behind him. The girls looked breathless, likely from rushing.
"What's going on?" Oliver demanded, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Alex. His expression softened in an instant, his usual sternness replaced by something closer to awe.
Jennifer and Ashley clutched each other's hands as they took in their brother, who now looked at them with an intensity they weren't used to.
Alex gave them a small, confused smile. "Uh… hey?"
Jennifer gasped. Ashley's hands flew to her mouth.
Oliver's heart pounded as he slowly stepped forward, still trying to comprehend the moment.
Dr. Reynolds cleared his throat. "Mr. Williams, I believe you should sit down. We have… a lot to talk about."