The Morning Never Comes

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“Dad, don’t leave the door unlocked again. One day, someone might just walk in.”

Ethan’s voice was strained with frustration as he watched his father, Peter, casually toss the keys onto the kitchen counter. Peter, a retired electrician with a penchant for old habits, waved off his son's concern with a dismissive chuckle.

“Who’d want to break into this old house? It’s been here for thirty years, and nothing’s happened yet. This is a safe neighborhood, Ethan. Trust me, nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Never say never,” Ethan muttered under his breath as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and left for work.

Peter leaned back in his chair, staring at the worn wooden door that had served his family for decades. The hinges creaked with the weight of history each time it swung open, and the faded paint told stories of birthdays, Christmases, and countless goodbyes. He sighed, thinking how life had become quieter since his wife passed away five years ago. The house, once alive with the laughter of family gatherings, now felt more like a museum of memories.

The day passed like any other. Peter tinkered in the garage, fixing an old radio that had stopped working, while the sun dipped lower into the horizon. Evening arrived with the sound of crickets and the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower. Peter locked up the garage and headed inside, leaving the door, as always, unlocked.

That night, Peter sat in his worn-out recliner, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the TV remote in the other. He flipped through channels absentmindedly, the noise filling the silence of the empty house. The same old news, the same old faces. He scoffed at the anchors talking about crime in the city, far removed from his quiet, uneventful life.

“Nothing ever happens around here,” he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep, the TV flickering in the background.

---

The sound of shattering glass jolted Peter awake. His heart raced as he sat up, disoriented, struggling to make sense of the noise. The clock on the wall read 3:15 AM. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the drowsiness, when he heard it again—footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing through the hallway.

Peter’s mind raced. It couldn’t be Ethan; he always called before coming over, and besides, he had his own place across town. Fear gripped him as he realized he hadn’t locked the door. He cursed himself under his breath, trying to recall Ethan’s warning from earlier. “Never say never.”

He grabbed the nearest object, a heavy metal flashlight, and crept toward the hallway. The house, once a comforting cocoon of memories, now felt like a maze of shadows and danger. His breath caught in his throat as he peered around the corner, seeing the figure of a man rifling through drawers in the kitchen.

Peter’s hands trembled, the flashlight feeling like a lead weight. He had never encountered a situation like this before—his life had always been predictable, safe. The man was thin, dressed in dark clothes, his face partially obscured by a hood. Peter’s mind raced. What was he supposed to do? Confront him? Call the police? His phone was on the table in the living room—too far away.

Before Peter could decide, the intruder turned and spotted him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The man took a step toward Peter, his hand reaching inside his jacket. Panic surged through Peter, and without thinking, he swung the flashlight with all his strength.

The metal connected with a sickening thud. The man crumpled to the floor, clutching his head. Peter’s breath came in ragged gasps as he stood over the intruder, his heart pounding in his chest. He expected the man to lunge at him, to fight back—but instead, he lay still, groaning in pain.

Peter’s hands were still shaking when he finally reached for the phone and called the police. He could barely hear the operator over the roaring in his ears as he explained what had happened. The next few minutes were a blur—flashing lights, uniformed officers swarming the house, questions he could barely answer.

As the police led the intruder away in handcuffs, Peter caught a glimpse of the man’s face—a kid, no older than twenty, with wide, frightened eyes. He wasn’t some hardened criminal, just a desperate young man who had made a terrible mistake.

“Sir, do you know this person?” one of the officers asked.

Peter shook his head, still in shock. “No… I’ve never seen him before.”

The officer nodded, scribbling notes. “You’re lucky, Mr. Jenkins. It could’ve ended much worse.”

Peter nodded absently, the officer’s words barely registering. Lucky. The word felt hollow as he watched the kid being loaded into the back of a patrol car. His life had changed in an instant—his safe, predictable world shattered by a single act of violence. And it all happened because he didn’t believe anything could.

---

The next morning, Ethan arrived at the house, finding his father sitting on the porch, staring out at the quiet street. He was clutching a cup of coffee, but it had long since gone cold.

“Dad… are you okay?” Ethan asked, worry etched across his face.

Peter looked up, his eyes tired and hollow. He managed a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. Just… had a rough night.”

Ethan sat down beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I told you, Dad. You can’t be too careful. Never say never, right?”

Peter nodded slowly, the weight of those words finally sinking in. He thought about the kid—the look of fear in his eyes, the way his hands had trembled just like Peter’s. It wasn’t just the break-in that had shaken him; it was the realization of how fragile his world really was.

For years, Peter had lived in a bubble, believing nothing bad could ever happen to him, to his home. But now, that illusion had been shattered. As the morning sun began to rise, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, Peter made a silent vow to never take his safety for granted again.

He turned to Ethan, his voice steady but soft. “You were right, son. Never say never.”

And with that, Peter stood up, went inside, and locked the door behind him.