SEBASTIAN SOLACE

The kitchen was alive with the sounds of gentle simmering, a wooden spoon scraping the bottom of a pot as Sebastian stirred the sauce, savoring the rich aroma filling the air. It was one of those quiet moments that reminded him why he loved these simple evenings at home with you. He glanced over his shoulder toward the living room where you sat, comfortably tucked into the corner of the couch, your fingers deftly working yarn into yet another hat for the baby. The soft pastel pink was beginning to take the shape of a delicate, tiny cap.

Sebastian's heart swelled with pride and love. Six months pregnant now, and you’d been so focused on preparing everything for the arrival of your baby girl. The thought of her brought warmth to his chest. A daughter. He hadn’t expected how deeply that idea would settle into him. He was going to be a father, and there was nothing more sacred to him now than the life you were carrying.

The scene was serene, peaceful, and perfect. He turned back to the stove, a content smile pulling at his lips, already imagining the moment when the three of you would be together, when he could hold her in his arms. Dinner was almost ready, and he thought about asking if you’d like tea or something sweet to go along with it. But just as he was about to open his mouth, a sharp, urgent knock cut through the warmth of the room, loud and insistent.

It startled him, freezing him mid-motion. His hand hovered over the spoon for a second, his brow furrowing. That knock—there was something off about it. It wasn’t the light rap of a friendly visitor, or even a neighbor. It was harsh, almost aggressive.

He turned, looking toward the door, and you, too, had stilled. Your hands paused over your crochet, your eyes flickering toward the source of the noise, concern crossing your face. "Who could that be?" he muttered to himself, wiping his hands quickly on a dish towel.

"I’ll check it out," he reassured, but there was an underlying tension in his voice, the knot of anxiety already forming in his chest. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. There was an edge to the knocking that made his instincts flare up, a warning in the back of his mind.

He walked toward the front door, every step slower than the last, that tight feeling in his gut growing as he reached for the handle. The knocking came again, even louder this time, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t interested in waiting any longer. His heart was racing now, the calm of a few moments ago long gone. He opened the door.

Standing in front of him were two police officers. Their faces were hard, expressionless, and their eyes locked onto him immediately with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. They weren’t here for a chat. They weren’t here for anything good.

Sebastian barely had time to process what was happening before the officer in front of him raised a taser, the barrel pointing straight at his chest. "Hands in the air!" the officer barked, his voice sharp, as if no hesitation would be tolerated. "Get on the ground, now!"

Reality of the situation crashing over him like ice water. He hadn’t done anything—this was insane. What the hell was going on? “Wait—what?” His voice came out, rough with confusion. He raised his hands slowly, palms up, trying to show them he wasn’t a threat. “There’s been a mistake, I think,” he said, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel the pulse in his throat, the fear curling tighter around him.

But they weren’t listening.

"On the ground!" the second officer shouted again, stepping closer, the taser still aimed directly at him. There was no room for negotiation in their voices, no explanation, no reason.

Sebastian glanced back inside, toward the living room. He could see you standing up now, concern etched across your face, your hand hovering protectively over your belly. He felt a jolt of panic. You hadn’t seen the tasers yet—you didn’t know what kind of situation this was. And that terrified him. He didn’t want you anywhere near this, not in your condition. “Okay, just—just hold on,” he said, his voice low, trying to keep his movements slow, deliberate. He turned back to the officers, his hands still raised, but his mind was racing. If he didn’t de-escalate this quickly, things could go horribly wrong.

He stepped back from the door, trying to keep his body language calm, but before he could say another word, one of the officers lunged forward. The force was sudden and violent. The cop grabbed his arm with an iron grip and yanked him forward, out of the doorway and onto the porch.

Sebastian’s world tilted as his body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud. The air was knocked out of him, pain radiating up his chest as his ribs collided with the hard wood. “What the hell—” he gasped, trying to push himself up, but another officer was on him in seconds, driving a knee into his back with brutal force.

The weight was unbearable, crushing, his chest pressed into the porch so hard he could barely draw breath.

“Stay down! Don’t resist!” one of the officers growled in his ear, twisting his arms behind him. The sharp burn in his shoulders flared as they forced his wrists together, the cold metal of handcuffs biting into his skin. “I’m not resisting!” Sebastian shouted, his voice raw with pain and disbelief. “I haven’t done anything! What is this about?”

The officer didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved Sebastian’s face harder into the ground, gravel scraping against his skin. The pressure on his back was relentless, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Inside the house, you must have heard the commotion because he could hear your voice now, rising in panic. “Sebastian? What’s happening?” His heart clenched. No, no, no—don’t come outside. He couldn’t let you see this, couldn’t let you get involved. He twisted his head, trying to shout through the pain. “Stay inside! Please—just stay inside!” His voice cracked, fear clawing at him.

But then he heard it—your footsteps approaching the door. No, no. His pulse raced, desperation gripping him like a vice. “Get back!” one of the officers barked at you, but you didn’t listen. He could hear the fear in your voice as you stepped onto the porch, your concern for him overriding the danger.

“Sebastian?” you called again, but your voice had barely left your lips when the second officer—who had been standing to the side—grabbed you. Sebastian’s heart dropped into his stomach, his body jerking instinctively despite the weight pinning him down. He watched in horror as the cop grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you back with force. You stumbled, nearly falling forward, your hand flying to your belly to protect the baby.

“Hey! Hey!” Sebastian shouted, panic flooding his veins. “Get your hands off her!” His voice was wild now, desperate. He struggled under the officer’s knee, trying to get to you, but the pressure kept him pinned, suffocating him.

The officer ignored him, his grip tightening on your arm as he yanked it behind your back in a way that made Sebastian’s blood boil. The angle was wrong—unnatural—and you winced, your face twisting in pain.

Sebastian’s vision blurred with rage. Every protective instinct in his body roared to life, the need to stop this overwhelming every thought. “She's pregnant! What the hell is wrong with you?!” he screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury.

But they didn’t care. They didn’t care about you or him or the fact that you were pregnant and in pain. All they cared about was asserting their authority, and it made Sebastian sick. The helplessness gnawed at him, each second feeling like an eternity as they kept you pinned and kept him restrained, both of you caught in this senseless, brutal display of power.

If anything happened to you or the baby… He couldn’t even finish the thought. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. All he wanted to do was protect you, and now he was being forced to watch as you were hurt, unable to do a damn thing about it.