Page 110 of The Silence Between

I helped him to his feet, keeping my arm firmly around his waist as we walked slowly back to my abandoned car. He moved like a sleepwalker, each step mechanical, his eyes unfocused. The dissociative state hadn't fully passed, I realized with growing concern. This wasn't just exhaustion—this was psychological shutdown.

The hospital emergency room was mercifully quiet when we arrived. I kept my arm around Leo's shoulders as I explained to the triage nurse that he needed psychiatric evaluation for suicidal ideation. The clinical terminology felt strange in my mouth, transforming what we'd just experienced into medical language that couldn't possibly capture the weight of it.

“Active suicide attempt interrupted,” the nurse wrote on her form, the words making me physically flinch. “Any history of previous attempts?”

“I don't—“ I looked at Leo, who sat beside me staring at nothing.

“Three years ago,” he said quietly, the first words he'd spoken since agreeing to come to the hospital. “Considered it. Didn't try.”

I squeezed his hand, trying to communicate without words that he wasn't alone anymore, that he would never be alone like that again if I had anything to say about it.

The intake process blurred together—forms to sign, vitals to check, questions Leo answered in monosyllables when he answered at all. When they took him back for evaluation, I was left alone in the waiting room with my phone and the crushing weight of everything that had happened.

I called Damien first, my voice breaking as I explained where we were, what had happened. He promised to handle notification to the courthouse and to check on Gloria's condition. Next, I called Eleanor, who was already coordinating with Mrs. Hernandez to watch the kids until we knew more.

It was only after these calls that I finally allowed myself to break down, sitting alone in a plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room, face buried in my hands as silent sobs wracked my body. The image of Leo standing beyond that railing kept flashing behind my closed eyelids, along with the knowledge of how close I'd come to being too late.

Hours passed. I paced. I drank terrible coffee. I made calls and arrangements and tried not to think about what would have happened if I'd been five minutes later reaching the bridge.

When the doctor finally appeared, her grave expression confirmed what I already knew—this wasn't a situation that would resolve with a good night's sleep and some reassurance.

“Mr. Reyes is experiencing a major depressive episode with suicidal behavior,” she explained, her voice low and professional. “Compounded by acute stress disorder following multiple simultaneous crises. Extreme exhaustion is complicating his ability to regulate emotional responses.”

“What happens now?” My voice sounded strange to my own ears.

“We're recommending inpatient psychiatric treatment. Mr. Reyes has agreed to voluntary admission, which is a positive sign of insight into his condition.” She handed me a packet of information. “He's asking to see you before transport to the psychiatric unit.”

They'd put Leo in a small room off the main emergency department. He sat on the edge of a hospital bed, still in his own clothes but with hospital ID bands around his wrist. He looked so small, so vulnerable, that it took everything in me not to break down again.

“Hey,” I said softly, sitting beside him.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, but clearer than it had been on the bridge. More present. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Will you tell my siblings where I am? I can't...” He swallowed hard. “I can't face them right now. Can't explain. But they need to know.”

The request hit me like a physical blow—the trust it demonstrated, asking me to handle this most delicate of communications, to step into the role he'd always filled himself no matter how difficult.

“Of course I will.” I took his hand, careful of the IV they'd placed. “Whatever you need. Whatever they need. I'm here.”

He nodded, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. “Thank you. For finding me. For...” He couldn't finish.

“You would have done the same for me.” I brushed his hair back from his forehead, the simple gesture feeling almost unbearably intimate. “Rest now. Focus on getting better. I'll take care of everything else.”

“The hearing?—“

“Damien is handling it. We'll figure it out.” I squeezed his hand gently. “One step at a time, remember? That's what you always say.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone almost before it formed. “One step at a time.”

When they came to transport him to the psychiatric unit, I watched them wheel him away, feeling simultaneously relieved that he was getting help and terrified of what lay ahead—for him, for his siblings, for all of us. The road to recovery wouldn't be short or easy. The systems that had pushed him to breaking point still existed, the challenges that had overwhelmed him still needed solutions.

But he wasn't facing them alone anymore. None of them were.

The following morning, I stood outside Leo's apartment door, heart pounding as if I'd run a marathon. Eleanor had stayed overnight with the siblings, but explaining where Leo was fell to me.

I knocked, then used the key Leo had given me weeks ago. Inside, three pairs of eyes immediately locked onto me, their expressions a mix of confusion, fear, and fragile hope.

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