Page 25 of The Silence Between

“Then what's the point?” I stood up, needing distance. “You get to swoop in, play hero for a few hours, then go back to your normal life with your normal family in your normal house where the heat always works and no one's wondering if dinner exists tonight.”

Hurt flashed across his face. “That's not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” I gestured toward my mother's unconscious form. “This is my reality, Ethan. All of it. The hospital visits, the Social Services appointments, the three jobs, the constant fear. You can visit this world, but I live here.”

“You think I don't know that?” he shot back, standing too. “You think I don't see the differences? I'm not blind, Leo.”

“Seeing isn't the same as understanding.”

“Then help me understand! Stop pushing me away every time things get hard.”

“This isn't 'things getting hard,'” I said, lowering my voice as a nurse glanced our way. “This is my life falling apart for the fourth time this year. And each time it happens, I have to be the one to pick up the pieces because there's no one else.”

Ethan reached for my hand. I let him take it, too tired to pull away. “Let me be someone else,” he said quietly. “Let me be here.”

I looked at our joined hands, at the gulf between our lives that no amount of good intentions could bridge.

“I don't know how,” I admitted, the fight draining out of me. “I don't know how to let anyone help.”

“You could start by not telling me to go home,” he suggested, the smallest hint of a smile touching his lips.

I sighed, suddenly too exhausted to maintain the walls I'd built. “Fine. Stay if you want. But I'm terrible company right now.”

“I'll risk it,” he said, squeezing my hand.

We sat together in silence as the hospital continued its midnight rhythms around us, the distance between our worlds momentarily bridged but still yawning beneath the surface.

* * *

March broughtpale sunshine that failed to warm the classroom where I sat after school, staring at two envelopes on the desk before me. State University and Riverside College—both acceptances, both offering partial scholarships that still left impossible financial gaps.

What should have been cause for celebration felt hollow against the reality of my circumstances. Mom was now in court-mandated rehabilitation after her suicide attempt, Dad still absent without a word, and Social Services had increased their scrutiny of our living situation. The caseworker's last visit had included thinly veiled warnings about the need for “stable adult supervision” for my siblings.

I understood the subtext: pursuing my education likely meant losing custody of Mari, Diego, and Sophie to foster care. The acceptance letters represented not opportunity but impossible choice between my future and my family.

The classroom door opened, and Ethan entered, face alight with his own news. “I got into UW's writing program! And they're offering a partial—“ He stopped short, reading my expression. “What's wrong? Didn't you hear back yet?”

I pushed the envelopes toward him wordlessly.

“Leo, that's fantastic!” he exclaimed, scanning the letters. “Both of them! We need to celebrate. I told you they'd recognize how brilliant you are.”

His genuine happiness for me made what I had to say next even harder. “I can't go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Social Services made it clear. If I leave, the kids go into the system.” I kept my voice level, reciting facts rather than revealing the turmoil beneath. “Mom's rehab lasts ninety days, minimum. Dad's been gone almost four months now. There's no one else.”

Ethan processed this, his expression shifting from confusion to determination. “There have to be options. Defer for a year. Or maybe you could get an apartment near campus big enough for all of you.”

“With what money? The scholarships barely cover tuition, let alone living expenses for four people.”

“There are other scholarships, emergency grants. Or maybe my parents?—“

“Stop.” I cut him off, frustration boiling over. “This isn't a problem you can solve with Webb family connections or resources. This is my reality.”

“I'm just trying to help!”

“I know. But you don't understand. Your worst-case scenario is disappointing your parents. Mine is my brother and sisters being separated in foster care.”

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