Page 107 of The Silence Between

“Will she...” I couldn't finish the question.

“It's too soon to say,” she replied gently. “There's a significant risk of brain damage from oxygen deprivation before she was found. You should prepare your family for the possibility that even if she survives, she may not recover fully.”

The words hit like physical blows. Not just potential death, but the limbo of partial recovery. Another impossible situation with no good choices, only varying degrees of pain.

“Can I see her?” I asked, though I wasn't sure why. To say goodbye? To yell at her unconscious form for putting us through this again? To forgive her for something she couldn't help?

“Briefly. She's in ICU. Immediate family only.”

As I followed Dr. Patel down the corridor, my phone vibrated with a text from Damien:

Damien

Judge denied continuance. Hearing proceeding at 2pm. Miguel claiming you're abandoning custody obligations by being at hospital instead. Need you back ASAP.

The walls of the hospital seemed to close in around me, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, sounds amplified to painful levels. My vision tunneled, black edges creeping in as my breathing accelerated beyond control.

I stumbled into a nearby bathroom, locking the door behind me as my legs finally gave out. I slid down the wall to the cold tile floor, gasping for air that wouldn't fill my lungs, tears I'd been holding back for hours, days, years finally breaking through.

Too much. It was all too much.

My phone screen blurred through tears as I checked the time. 1:25 PM. Thirty-five minutes until a hearing that could take my siblings away. My mother unconscious in ICU. No way to be in both places. No right choice possible.

I'd spent ten years believing I could hold it all together through sheer force of will. That if I just worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, planned carefully enough, I could keep my family safe. The illusion of control shattered around me on that bathroom floor, leaving nothing but the raw truth I'd been running from: I couldn't do this alone anymore. Perhaps I never could.

When I finally managed to stand, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my haunted reflection, a strange calm had replaced the panic. Not peace, but the eerie stillness that comes when you've moved beyond fear into something deeper.

I walked out of the hospital without seeing my mother, without speaking to Miguel or Townsend, without explaining to anyone where I was going. Damien called twice, but I let it go to voicemail. Diego texted again, but I couldn't bring myself to respond.

My feet carried me automatically toward the old railroad bridge, the place that had always been sanctuary during my darkest moments. The walk took nearly forty minutes, the courthouse deadline passing unnoticed as I moved through Riverton like a ghost, unseeing and unseen.

I stood at the edge, wind tugging at my clothes as I stared down at the river that had divided my life into before and after, East and West, possible and impossible. My phone vibrated continuously in my pocket, ignored as I traced the semicolon tattooed on my wrist, the mark that had once promised continuation when stopping seemed easier.

The promise felt hollow now. What was I continuing toward? More impossible choices? More crises with no right answers? More pretending I could handle what no human being should have to face alone?

I stepped over the safety barrier onto the narrow concrete ledge, nothing between me and the drop but empty air. Not a decision yet, just a possibility. An option I'd considered three years ago and rejected for the sake of my siblings.

But what if they would be better without me? What if my desperate attempts to hold everything together were actually causing more harm than good? Miguel was a terrible father, but with Townsend's connections, maybe the kids would end up with a stable foster family instead. Maybe Mari could focus on college without worrying about us. Maybe Diego and Sophie could have the childhood I'd failed to provide.

The semicolon on my wrist seemed to mock me now. The author's choice to continue rather than end the sentence. But what if continuing the story was actually cruel? What if the kindest ending was a period, final and complete?

I closed my eyes, feeling the wind surge around me, hearing the water below. One step. One simple step and all the impossible choices would end. The constant struggle. The fear of failure. The burden of responsibility too heavy for anyone to carry alone.

One step, and it would be over.

22

DARKEST NIGHT

ETHAN

I'd never known panic like this—raw, animal terror clawing at my insides as I raced through Riverton's streets, checking my phone for the twentieth time in case I'd somehow missed a call. The string of missed calls and increasingly desperate voicemails from Leo played on endless loop in my head.

“Ethan, it's me. There's an emergency hearing today. Miguel showed up with court papers.”

“Ethan. It's me again. My mom's in the hospital. Overdose. They say it's critical. I... I don't know what to do about telling the kids. I could really use...”

That broken plea at the end had been three hours ago. Three hours of silence since.

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