Page 113 of The Silence Between

Mari and Diego hung back, their expressions a complicated mix of relief, concern, and uncertainty. Diego especially looked like he didn't know what to do with his body, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched in that defensive posture I knew too well.

“Come here, you two,” I said, extending one arm while keeping the other around Sophie.

Mari stepped forward first, her hug careful as if afraid I might break. Diego followed reluctantly, allowing himself to be pulled into the group embrace but maintaining a certain physical distance that spoke volumes.

When we separated, I gestured to the chairs arranged in a loose circle. “Let's sit. Tell me about your week.”

“Are you okay?” Sophie blurted out, ignoring my attempt at normalcy. “Does it hurt? Being here?”

Trust Sophie to cut straight to the heart of things.

“I'm getting better,” I said carefully, choosing my words with the awareness of both the staff member's presence and Dr. Harrison's guidance about age-appropriate honesty. “It doesn't hurt being here. It's helping me learn how to handle things when they get overwhelming.”

“Like when Dad showed up drunk and then Mom was in the hospital and the court stuff happened all at once?” Sophie asked, her perception catching me off guard.

“Yeah, like that.” I looked at Mari, questions in my eyes.

“We've been honest with her,” Mari said, answering my unspoken concern. “Age-appropriate, like your doctors suggested, but honest.”

I nodded, something tight in my chest loosening slightly. “That's good. And how have you all been managing? Really?”

“We're okay,” Mari said, leaning forward slightly. “We've actually developed a pretty good system.”

For the next twenty minutes, I listened as Mari detailed the functional family unit they'd established in my absence. Eleanor opening the apartment for them after school on the days Ethan had late faculty meetings. Mrs. Hernandez teaching Sophie how to cook simple meals. Diego taking responsibility for the laundry without being asked. Damien checking in daily about the custody situation.

And Ethan. Always Ethan, the steady center around which this new constellation orbited. Driving the kids to school. Helping with homework. Sleeping on our couch some nights when Sophie had nightmares.

“When are you coming home?” Diego asked, the first full sentence he'd spoken since arriving.

“Probably another week,” I said. “They want to make sure I have the right medication balance and some good coping strategies in place first.”

“And then everything goes back to normal?” The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.

I looked at him—really looked at him—for perhaps the first time in months. When had his face lost its childish roundness? When had his eyes started carrying that wary skepticism that made him look so much older?

“Not exactly like before,” I admitted. “Some things will need to change.”

“Like what?” The wariness in his voice hurt more than outright anger would have.

“Like me trying to do everything alone. Like pretending I'm fine when I'm not.” I held his gaze, refusing to look away from his skepticism. “Like setting a better example of how to take care of yourself, not just everyone else.”

Something shifted in his expression—not acceptance, not yet, but maybe the beginning of understanding.

“We're keeping your seat warm,” Sophie said suddenly, breaking the tension. “At the dinner table. Ethan sits in the other chair, not yours.”

The simple statement hit me harder than I expected, gratitude and grief tangling in my chest. “Thanks, Soph.”

As the visit continued, the conversation gradually relaxed into more normal patterns. School updates. Neighborhood gossip. Small everyday things that had continued in my absence. By the time the staff member gently indicated that visiting hours were ending, something had shifted between us. Not healed, not resolved, but changed in ways I couldn't quite articulate.

“We love you,” Mari said as they prepared to leave, the words simple but profound. Not “we need you” or “we miss you,” but “we love you.” As if my value wasn't tied exclusively to what I provided or how I functioned.

I hugged each of them again, including Diego who allowed the contact with less resistance this time. “I love you too. All of you.”

I watched them leave, Sophie turning at the door to wave one more time. The emptiness that followed their departure wasn't the crushing void I'd feared, but something quieter, more contemplative. They were okay. Not perfect, not unaffected, but fundamentally okay in a way I hadn't dared to hope for.

And maybe, eventually, I would be too.

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