Page 116 of The Silence Between

The relief in his eyes was immediate and profound. “Good. Because I've gotten pretty attached to those kids. And their big brother.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest, tender and fragile and terrifying. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of trust—not just in Ethan, but in the possibility that I didn't have to face everything alone.

“One day at a time,” I repeated, the phrase feeling less like a platitude and more like a lifeline.

* * *

“Your discharge planincludes ongoing therapy twice weekly, medication management appointments monthly, and a gradual return to work schedule.” Dr. Harrison reviewed the paperwork spread across the conference table, her voice matter-of-fact but kind. “How do you feel about these recommendations?”

I sat at the table surrounded by my treatment team—Dr. Harrison, Dr. Winters, a social worker named Lisa, and a psychiatric nurse practitioner who managed my medication. Three weeks in the hospital had changed me in ways I was still discovering, but this meeting represented the concrete transition back to the outside world.

“The therapy schedule works with my adjusted hours at the bookstore,” I said, reviewing the calendar we'd constructed together. “And I can make the medication appointments work too.”

“What about your other jobs?” Lisa asked, referencing her notes. “You were working three, correct?”

“I'm dropping the night janitorial position,” I said, the decision still feeling strange to articulate. “Between the bookstore management role and some freelance handyman work, we can make the budget work. Especially with Mari's scholarship covering her expenses now.”

Dr. Winters nodded approvingly. “That sounds like a sustainable plan. And how will responsibilities be managed at home during your transition period?”

“We've worked out a system.” I indicated the family schedule in my folder, color-coded and detailed. “Mari will continue handling most of the cooking. Diego's taking responsibility for laundry and trash. Sophie has some age-appropriate chores. And Ethan will be around to help fill in the gaps, especially during the first few weeks.”

“And what about self-care?” Dr. Harrison prompted. “Where does that fit into the schedule?”

I showed her the blocks of time labeled simply “Leo” on the calendar. “Two hours on Wednesday evenings and Sunday afternoons. Non-negotiable, the kids agreed.”

“For what activities?”

“I don't know yet,” I admitted. “I've never really had... hobby time before.”

“That's something you can explore,” she said with an encouraging smile. “The important thing is maintaining the boundary around that time.”

We continued reviewing the plan, addressing potential triggers, warning signs, and response strategies. The level of detail would have overwhelmed me before, but now it felt reassuring—a safety net rather than a restriction.

“What's your biggest concern about returning home?” Dr. Winters asked as the meeting wound down.

I considered the question carefully. “Falling back into old patterns. It's easy to see the problems here, with distance. But when I'm back in the middle of everything...”

“That's a valid concern,” he acknowledged. “Which is why the ongoing therapy and support network are so important. This isn't a finish line, Leo. It's just the next step in a longer journey.”

As the meeting concluded and a discharge date was set for the following morning, I felt a complicated mix of emotions. Excitement about seeing my siblings daily again. Anxiety about assuming responsibilities I'd been sheltered from in the hospital. Fear about whether the changes I'd made would hold up under real-world pressure.

Recovery wasn't about getting back to normal. It was about creating a new normal that might actually be sustainable.

24

CONTINUATION

LEO

Coming home should have felt like a relief. Instead, my stomach twisted with a strange mix of comfort and disorientation. Home, but not quite the same home I'd left.

I stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon cleaner and the faint hint of whatever Mari had cooked for dinner. The place looked exactly as I'd left it—same worn furniture, same faded photos on the walls, same scuff marks on the baseboards I'd been meaning to touch up for months. But it felt different, as if the very air had shifted while I was gone.

Or maybe I was the one who'd changed.

“Leo!” Sophie's voice rang out from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway, grinning but not rushing toward me. That was new—the careful restraint in her excitement, giving me space rather than overwhelming me with affection.

“Hey, squirt,” I said, setting my duffel bag down. “Miss me?”

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