Our Family's Enemy

Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. At that moment, I still didn't know that today would be like a stone thrown into a tranquil lake, stirring our lives into a raging storm. Just over ten minutes later, the doorbell was suddenly battered with 'bang bang' sounds—not by pressing, but kicked so violently that the family portrait hanging on the wall shook, its glass edges striking the wall and producing faint, shattered noises. The wine glass in Father's hand froze mid-air; his face, which had just been smiling, instantly darkened. I had never seen him wear such an expression—his brows furrowed into a tight knot, his eyes frozen like ice, and even his fingertips stretched so taut they turned pale. He put down his chopsticks and quietly nudged me behind Mother, his voice barely above a whisper: "Wendy, take Sam to the bedroom and lock the door." Mother had just stood up when the wooden door was slammed open with a bang. A crowd surged in. Leading them was a woman dressed in black leather, her zipper pulled all the way up, her hair dyed a deep wine-red, strands clinging to her cheeks. Her gaze was like a poisoned blade, and as it swept across the living room, even the air seemed to chill. It was only later that I learned her name was Quincy Xavier, the enemy my father had buried deep in his heart for many years. Mother said that this person had entangled our family in an unresolvable grudge since Father was barely a teenager. Quincy's gaze skipped over me and Father, locking directly onto Mother, clutching a fruit knife in her hand; its blade gleamed coldly under the light like a serpent flicking its tongue. "Wendy Scott! You're exactly who I've been looking for!" Her voice was sharp and piercing. "Tim Lincoln has hidden away all these years, thinking that marrying and having children would let him live peacefully?" I screamed in terror, trying to rush over and grab Mother's hand, but Father quickly pulled me into his arms, pressing me to his chest. With his other hand, he swiftly reached under the sofa—that was where he kept his defensive stun baton. He had taught me before that if any intruder came, I should hide behind the sofa and wait for him to get it. "Quincy Xavier, dare touch her and see what happens!" Father's voice came out through clenched teeth, icy and sharp. "The court ruled long ago on what happened back then. How long do you plan to keep making a scene?" But Quincy Xavier paid no heed, lunging at Mother like a woman possessed. Mother dodged to the side but was still scratched on the arm; blood quickly seeped out, staining her off-white sleeve a vivid red. I struggled desperately in Father's arms, shouting, "Don't hurt Mother," and in that moment, I heard Quincy Xavier's knife plunging into Mother's chest. Mother collapsed to the ground, her eyes locked onto mine; her lips moved as if to say "Don't be afraid," but no sound escaped. Blood trickled down her clothes, pooling on the floor into a small, terrifying puddle, blooming like a crimson flower in bloom. Quincy Xavier crouched down and nudged Mother's arm with her foot, then turned to Father with a twisted smile: "Tim Lincoln, look, your wife is about to collapse! When you crashed into my father that year, did you ever think of today?" She paused, then her gaze swept to me, growing even fiercer. "If I see it happen again, I will cut off your son's head, and you will know what it means to have your family destroyed and your life shattered!" Father suddenly tightened his grip on my arm, the pressure making my ribs ache, yet he did not let go. He shoved me behind the sofa, his voice trembling yet utterly resolute: "Sam, stay here. Don't come out!" After saying that, he reached into the drawer and pulled out a gun — the one he had specially licensed and kept at home after encountering danger during his business last year. I had only seen it once, when he was cleaning it. "Quincy Xavier, you're asking for death!" Father shouted, raising the gun and aiming at her calf. "Bang," "bang" — two shots. Quincy screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor. Blood quickly spread through her black leather jacket, staining the floor a deeper red. Father stepped forward, pointing the gun at her head, his hand steady: "I didn't aim for your vital spots, not out of mercy, but to keep you alive—to make you pay for what happened today behind bars! You hurt my wife, threatened my son; don't ever expect to walk free again!" Those who came with Quincy Xavier tried to step forward, but Father turned and shot them a glare so fierce they froze instantly in place. When Mother was carried away by the ambulance, I held her hand tightly. It was cold, like a block of ice in winter. I kept calling "Mother," my voice hoarse, until she reluctantly opened her eyes, touching my face with her uninjured hand, and whispered weakly, "Sam... don't be afraid..." At the Hospital, Mother was immediately taken into the operating room. When the red light came on, Father sat on the bench in the hallway, his eyes reddening for the first time before me.