Page 22 of The Silence Between

“I care about him,” I said, the admission strange and weightless on my tongue. “I wouldn't hurt him.”

Gloria's smile held both sadness and wisdom. “We never plan to hurt those we care about, niño. But life makes its own plans.”

As Leo walked me to my car later, snow beginning to fall in gentle flakes that caught in his dark hair, I understood that loving him would never be simple. That hope—this fragile, beautiful thing growing between us—might hurt as much as it healed.

But watching him in the soft glow of street lights, snowflakes melting on his eyelashes as he smiled at me, I knew it was too late for caution. I was already falling, already committed to whatever complicated future we might build.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded, resisting the urge to kiss him on his doorstep, aware of curious neighbors and watching siblings. “Tomorrow.”

As I drove home across the river that divided our worlds, I wondered if bridges were enough—if love alone could span the gaps between us, or if some divides were too wide to cross without someone falling into the darkness below.

5

BREAKING APART

LEO

The digital clock on my nightstand read 3:27 AM, January 1st. Outside my bedroom window, The Hollows had finally gone quiet after the scattered celebrations of midnight. No more distant firecrackers or drunken shouting. Just stillness, snowflakes, and stars.

“Think we'll see the northern lights?” Ethan asked beside me, his voice barely above a whisper. We sat huddled on the sloped roof outside my window, a blanket wrapped around our shoulders against the winter cold. His presence felt simultaneously impossible and inevitable.

“In Riverton? No fucking way,” I replied, bumping my shoulder against his. “Too much light pollution.”

“My dad says they were visible here once, when he was a kid. Before the paper mill expanded.” Ethan tilted his head back, studying the sky. “Before the town split in two.”

I watched his profile in the moonlight. Sometimes I still couldn't believe this was real. Ethan Webb, West Riverton golden boy, choosing to spend New Year's with me rather than at some country club party with his parents' friends.

Inside our apartment, my siblings slept—Mari on the pull-out couch, Diego and Sophie sharing the bedroom with me. Mom was here too, for once, passed out in the living room after mixing wine with her meds despite my warnings. Dad remained a ghost, two months gone now with no word.

But in this moment, with Ethan's warmth against my side and the whole sleeping town below us, I allowed myself to feel something dangerously close to happiness—a pocket of peace I'd learned to recognize and treasure precisely because I knew how quickly security could vanish.

“I heard back from UW,” Ethan said softly. “Early admission.”

I turned to him, genuine joy pushing through my fatigue. “That's amazing. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” His smile flickered with something complicated. “It's their creative writing program.”

“Not Princeton? Your dad's going to have a stroke.”

“I haven't told them yet.” He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “I'm thinking about doing it in the spring. Coming clean about everything.”

Everything. The word hung between us, carrying the weight of multiple revelations—his choice of major, his rejection of the family legacy, and us. Especially us.

“They might surprise you,” I offered, though neither of us really believed it.

“Maybe.” He didn't sound convinced. “What about you? Any word from State yet?”

I shook my head. “Should hear by March.” If I could even go, a caveat I left unspoken.

“We could end up at schools just hours apart,” he said, enthusiasm warming his voice. “I mapped it out. If you go to State and I'm at UW, it's just a three-hour drive. We could see each other most weekends.”

I let him talk, painting this future of dorm rooms and weekend visits, of leaving Riverton behind. I allowed myself to imagine it momentarily: freedom from constant responsibility, focusing on my own education, building something real with Ethan beyond stolen moments and secret meetups.

But reality waited just behind the window. Three children who depended on me, a mother who couldn't stay sober, bills that wouldn't pay themselves. Ethan could plan steps toward an open future. I remained trapped in the quicksand of present necessities.

Still, I didn't voice my doubts. Not tonight. Not while his eyes held that light, his hand warm in mine.

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