I'd rather be the protector than the protected. I'm naturally the

Host: The street was quiet, wrapped in the amber glow of the setting sun. A faint hum of traffic drifted from far away, soft as the memory of a song. The park bench where Jack and Jeeny sat was old, its paint chipped, its metal edges cold against their hands. A playground nearby lay still, the swings moving slightly in the breeze, creaking like ghosts of laughter left behind.

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers. Jeeny sat beside him, her hands clasped, her eyes distant but alive.

Host: It was that hour before night—when light holds its breath, and truths begin to surface.

Jeeny: “Solange said, ‘I’d rather be the protector than the protected.’” She paused. “I understand that. There’s something about protecting someone—it makes you feel like you have a purpose.”

Jack: (exhaling smoke) “Purpose, huh? Or control?”

Host: The smoke curled upward, silver threads fading into the dim sky.

Jeeny: “Control? No. It’s about love. About not wanting to see the people you care for get hurt.”

Jack: “You call it love. I call it a burden. Being the protector means you’re always the one bleeding quietly, always watching, always holding back your own fears so someone else doesn’t have to see them.”

Host: The sound of a distant siren broke the stillness, its echo lingering like a warning in the air.

Jeeny: “That’s part of it. It’s what being strong means. You don’t run from the weight—you carry it.”

Jack: “Maybe. But sometimes the weight breaks you before you even know it’s there.”

Host: The streetlight beside them flickered on, painting their faces in a half-light—one side soft, one side shadowed.

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve been there.”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Everyone’s been there, Jeeny. Some just hide it better. You protect long enough, and you start to wonder who’s supposed to protect you.”

Jeeny: “Maybe no one,” she whispered. “Maybe that’s the truth about being a protector. You stop waiting for someone to save you, and you just… stand up.”

Host: Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with that tender strength only those who’ve suffered know.

Jack: “That’s poetic,” he said. “But it’s also lonely. Look at Solange—she grew up in the shadow of her sister, in the glare of the spotlight. You think she wanted to be the shield, or did she just have no choice?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes choice doesn’t matter. Some people are born to protect. Mothers. Soldiers. Leaders. They don’t get to decide—they just… feel it.”

Jack: “And who protects the protectors?”

Jeeny: “Life doesn’t promise fairness, Jack. You know that. But it does promise meaning—if you can carry it.”

Host: The breeze picked up, scattering leaves across the ground, their edges crisp and golden under the lamplight.

Jack: “You sound like my mother. She used to say that same thing—‘I’ll be fine as long as you’re safe.’ She said it after my father left. Said it like it was a law of the universe.”

Jeeny: “Was she fine?”

Host: His jaw tightened. He looked away. The silence between them thickened, full of unsaid years.

Jack: “She pretended to be. That’s what being a protector looks like—you keep your cracks hidden. You keep the house standing, even when the roof is about to collapse.”

Jeeny: “Then she was brave. Because that’s what courage looks like—it doesn’t shout, it endures.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes softened, the reflection of the streetlight shimmering like tears that refused to fall.

Jack: “You make it sound noble. But I think it’s just pain, dressed up as virtue. Some people protect because they’re afraid—afraid of being powerless, of losing control.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s true. But even then—it’s still love, Jack. Fear is the shadow side of love. You can’t have one without the other.”

Host: A car passed, its headlights sliding over their faces, and for a moment, both looked like different versions of themselves—older, tired, but somehow wiser.

Jack: “You think Solange ever got tired of being the protector?”

Jeeny: “I think she learned to balance it. That’s what she meant—‘You have to navigate when it’s right to protect.’ There’s a time to step forward, and a time to step back. True strength isn’t just shielding others—it’s knowing when to let go.”

Jack: “Letting go sounds easy until you have to watch someone you love break.”

Jeeny: “It’s never easy. But sometimes breaking is how they grow. If you protect them from every pain, you also protect them from becoming themselves.”

Host: Her words hung there, heavy and tender, as if the air itself didn’t want to move.

Jack: “You’re saying that real protection isn’t about shielding, it’s about trust.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s about believing they’ll find their own strength, even if they fall.”

Host: Jack looked down at his hands, calloused and rough, as though they’d been holding too much for too long.

Jack: “Then maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all along. Maybe I wasn’t protecting people. Maybe I was just afraid they’d see I couldn’t fix them.”

Jeeny: (softly) “That’s still love, Jack. The kind that hurts, but teaches.”

Host: A pause, then a faint laugh escaped Jack’s lips, the kind that sounded more like a sigh.

Jack: “You always make pain sound like a lesson.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe that’s what life keeps trying to tell us—that being a protector isn’t about being invincible. It’s about being present. Even when it hurts.”

Host: The lamplight dimmed, the sky deepened into velvet blue, and the first stars began to appear, faint and fragile, like wounds turning into light.

Jack: “So what happens when the protector finally needs protecting?”

Jeeny: “Then it’s time to let someone in. That’s the hardest part—trusting that the world won’t fall apart if you lean for a moment.”

Host: Jack stubbed his cigarette out on the ground, the embers dying like a heartbeat fading into calm.

Jack: “You think she—Solange—ever learned that?”

Jeeny: “I think she did. You don’t say something like that without knowing both sides of the battle. She learned when to fight, and when to surrender.”

Host: The wind stirred again, lifting Jeeny’s hair across her face, and Jack’s hand moved instinctively to brush it aside. For a moment, his gesture said everything his words could not.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “See? Even you can’t help it.”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “Protecting.”

Host: The moment stretched, soft, fragile, real.

Host: Above them, the streetlight hummed, and the night held its breath. Somewhere in the distance, a child laughed, and the sound carried—small, pure, unbroken.

Host: And in that quiet, something shifted—not between words, but between hearts. The protector and the protected, both human, both tired, both seen.

Host: The stars burned a little brighter, as if the universe itself had just learned the same lesson.