Page 26 of The Silence Between

The harsh truth created a silence neither of us knew how to bridge. The Social Services appointment card burned in my pocket. A meeting that would determine whether I could maintain guardianship of my siblings once I turned eighteen next month.

“I've made my decision,” I said finally. “I'm going to decline the college acceptances and pursue full legal guardianship instead.”

Ethan stared at me, shock evident in his expression. “Leo, you can't just give up on college. We've worked so hard—the applications, the essays, the scholarships?—“

“It's not giving up. It's choosing what matters most.”

“But what about your future?”

“This is my future,” I said, gesturing to the guardianship application I'd pulled from my backpack. “Mari, Diego, Sophie. Keeping our family together.”

Ethan paced the small classroom, processing. “There has to be another way. What if you did online classes? Or community college part-time? Or?—“

“I've considered every option,” I interrupted gently. “For months. This is the only one that works.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face me. “And what about us? Where do I fit in this plan of yours?”

The question I'd been dreading. The one I'd lain awake at night trying to answer differently than the truth demanded.

“Ethan...” I began, then faltered.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by denial. “No. Don't say it.”

“We need to stop pretending this works,” I forced myself to continue. “Our lives are going in different directions.”

“So you're just giving up? On college, on us, on everything?”

“I'm making the only choice I can live with.” I stood, gathering my papers. “You need to go to UW. Study writing. Build the life you want. I need to be here for them. There's no compromise that doesn't hurt everyone more in the end.”

He reached for me, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Leo, please. We can figure this out.”

I stepped back, maintaining distance I needed to keep my resolve. “I've already figured it out. This is the answer.”

As I walked away, each step felt like moving through water, resistance growing with every inch of separation. Behind me, Ethan called my name once more, the sound carrying all the hurt I'd tried and failed to prevent.

* * *

April's rainwashed the courthouse steps as I emerged, legal guardianship papers for my siblings tucked into my backpack. The weight of official responsibility now matched what I'd carried unofficially for years. My eighteenth birthday had come and gone two weeks earlier, marked by a small celebration at home and the submission of these very guardianship papers.

In the weeks since ending things with Ethan, I'd moved through my days with singular focus—the guardianship process, additional work hours, arranging for Mom's outpatient treatment upon her upcoming release. I'd successfully compartmentalized the pain of losing him until this moment of brief stillness, when memories flooded back with brutal clarity.

Ethan atop the railroad bridge, starlight in his hair. Ethan reading poetry aloud in his car, voice soft with meaning. Ethan with Sophie on his lap, patiently explaining math concepts. Ethan's lips on mine, a connection that felt both dangerous and inevitable.

As if conjured by thought, he appeared at the end of the courthouse hallway, clearly having learned about the court date from Mari, with whom he'd maintained contact despite my distance. Seeing him—thinner, shadows beneath his eyes matching my own—cracked the careful wall I'd built.

“How did it go?” he asked, approaching cautiously.

“Approved,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “I'm officially their guardian.”

“Congratulations. Or condolences. I'm not sure which applies.”

The attempt at humor fell flat, grief making us formal strangers. We stood awkwardly, the bustling courthouse continuing around us—lawyers conferring, clerks rushing past, other lives in their own moments of legal definition.

“Mari told me it was today,” he said unnecessarily. “I thought... I don't know what I thought.”

“How are you?” I asked, the ordinary question absurd under the circumstances.

“Terrible,” he answered with unexpected honesty. “I miss you.”

---