Never Surrender

Kennedy woke up early on Thanksgiving morning with Max's arms wrapped around her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he breathed rhythmically in his sleep. Outside her window she could see that the sun wasn't up yet, but still she slid out of Max's arms and stepped into a pair of his sweatpants before she headed to the kitchen, sparing a glance at her father's bedroom door as she crept down the staircase.

As she readied the turkey and started on the sides, her eyes moved back to the picture above the stove. It was her family before. Her eyes zeroed in on her big brother's face. He was no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. A smile was on his lips as he held his dog close to his side, but Kennedy knew it wouldn't last long. His remission was almost over, inside, his cells were already mutating.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Konner," she whispered, touching her brother's form in the picture, "I hope you're doing okay."

She turned her attention back to cooking, her thoughts never once straying to the image of her mother hanging just in front of her. Mara Santos meant nothing to Kennedy now. She was just a woman who had given her life, that was all.

Mara Santos was a troubled woman when she was alive, struggling to live each day as her oldest child died in a hospital bed. Konner was her baby, her boy, and as he died, so did she.

Sam came down the stairs around seven in the morning, grinning widely as he realized his daughter had been out there for hours, preparing their meal so he didn't have to.

"You're such a good girl," Sam Santos said as he walked into the kitchen, surprising Kennedy. "You don't have to do this, Sweetheart, I was going to take care of it."

Kennedy smiled at her dad and shrugged her shoulders. "I want to," she said simply, "I haven't cooked in a long time."

He wrapped his arms around his daughter's shoulders and held her tightly, thankful she was there but not wanting to say it aloud again. "I've missed you," he said instead, his eyes finding the familiar image behind her, "It's not the same without you."

Kennedy sighed into the embrace, wrapping her arms around her father's torso. "I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered, her chin on his shoulder, "I shouldn't have left you here alone for so long."

"No," Sam stated, shaking his head, "You had every right to want to leave. I had to right to ask you to stay, Kennedy."

"But I should've," she replied, trying not to cry, "I should've just stayed here and been strong like you. I just... coming back is so hard."

"I know," her father whispered, closing his eyes. The image of his son lingered on the back of his eyelids. There was no escaping the memory of his only son. He looked back to the picture of what his family used to be and gently turned around so that he and Kennedy could both see it.

"Do you miss her?" Kennedy asked softly, gazing at her mother without a trace of recognition .

"She was my wife," Sam replied, taking in all the features of the woman he'd fallen in love with so long ago. "I loved her."

Kennedy pushed all of the air out of her lungs. "I hate that picture," she told him, reaching out for it, "I don't want it hanging here anymore." She pulled it from the wall before Sam could stop her.

"Put it back," he instructed, trying to take it from her, "Kennedy, that is your family, now put it back where it belongs."

"She's not a part of my family," Kennedy stated, undoing the frame so she could get to the picture, "After what she did to us, did to Konner, she is not my family and she's not yours either. She doesn't deserve to be in the same memory as him!" She didn't know how to stop herself and regain the composure she'd had until then. She was mad at herself for breaking down, and mad at the holidays for bringing her back, and mad at her father for still loving a woman who had hurt them all so much.

Sam tried to reason with his crying daughter as she dropped the wooden picture frame to the floor. "She was sick, Kennedy," he pleaded, picking the frame up from the floor, "She didn't know what she was doing."

Kennedy's eyes were bloodshot as she wiped at them, trying to pull herself back together. "She wasn't sick." She shook her head, looking her dad in the eyes. "She was just crazy. Pain made her crazy, Dad. She couldn't cope with anything so she..." she trained off as her shoulders shook violently.

Max stood just on the other side of the kitchen door. No one knew he was there, but he listened, trying to find out the secrets about Kennedy's mom that Kennedy had kept from him for so long. His insides ached from the sound of Kennedy's sadness. He knew he could help her, but he had to know what was hurting her. He pressed himself against the wall and listened.

Sam spoke, grabbing onto his daughter's wrist. "Please, Kennedy," he begged, standing tall and strong like he always had, "Give me the picture. We can put it away somewhere, you won't have to see it, but don't ruin it."

"I don't want her in it," Kennedy said, sounding composed again, "She doesn't deserve to be remembered like Konner."

Sam nodded. "You're right," he agreed, actually feeling that way for the first time. "She doesn't deserve the same kind of honor that Konner does. He was so much stronger than her. He was our little soldier."

Kennedy was calm now, staring at the fading image of her dead brother. "He shouldn't have had to be," she whispered, almost so quietly that Max couldn't hear, "He should've been able to be like everyone else. He should've cried and begged and screamed like us, but he just didn't. He just accepted dying."

"There was nothing he could do about it," Sam stated, his fingers taking his daughter's for comfort, "He knew that. He didn't want to suffer anymore than he had to."

Kennedy pulled her dad to her and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding the picture against his back. "But he just surrendered," she whispered, "He just surrendered to dying."

"That was all he could do."

Tears were in Kennedy's eyes again as she remembered the silent bravery instilled in Konner as his body failed him. She ran through the memories in her head one after another. The memories bring more tears and the tears soak into her dad's shirt, but she tried to remember everything.

When she was four and Konner was seven he got a puppy for Christmas. It was black, furry little thing that chewed up all the toys she left laying around. She couldn't hate it though, because Konner loved it. Konner and his dog were inseparable up until the day Konner was gone.

Sam pulled away from daughter and offered a sad smile. He promised that he would finish their dinner and suggested that she go back to bed for awhile so she could sleep through everything she was feeling inside.

She nodded, trying to smile back, and left him standing there with an empty picture frame as she took the picture with her.

Max stepped forward when Kennedy pushed through the swinging door. Her eyes met his as instantly were filled with more tears. The lanky man kissed her forehead and pulled her to him, wishing he could do more.

Kennedy held onto his tightly, scared of what he'd heard and what'd he ask once she'd stop crying. But she let him carry her upstairs and lay her in the center of her bed.

"Lay with me," she instructed softly before he had a chance to leave her, "Please, just lay with me."

Max climbed in next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She faced him and he faced her, holding still as she slid her hand up his shirt and left her fingers on his ribs as she closed her eyes.

Her pain was tangible and radiating from her like invisible sound waves that only Max could hear. He kissed her temple and cradled her against him, wanting nothing more for the day to end and the holiday to behind them so that Christmas could come and go.

Max willed himself to sleep after she was but he woke up alone. By the way the sun filtered in at the wrong angle, he knew it was late afternoon. He pushed the blanket off of him and stepped out of the bed, alone in the room.

He crept down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen, relieved to hear Kennedy and Sam laughing. He pushed through the door and smiled at the small, severed family.

"You're awake," Kennedy greeted, standing up from the kitchen table, "I was wondering if you were ever going to make your way down."

Max glanced at Sam, who smiled brightly. "Doesn't it smell great in here?" he asked, motioning to the room, "I'm surprised that the aroma didn't will you awake."

"I'm a heavy sleeper," Max commented, feeling out of place and confused. Just hours ago they were crying over a picture hanging on the wall but not everything was okay again and they were thrilled by the smell of Thanksgiving. "Are you okay?" he asked, meeting Kennedy's eyes.

"Yeah." She nodded, grabbing his hand, "We're okay."

As she pulled him over to the table, he spared a glance above the stove, his eyes taking in the same image as before, except now, the woman who once stood on the left side of the image was cut out, leaving just three smiling people and a black dog hanging on the wall.