Page 70 of The Silence Between

“Just let me know,” I said, gathering my materials as our session clearly concluded, the collaborative energy replaced by Leo's need to address this new threat.

As I left the bookstore, I realized how invested I'd become in this family's welfare. Not just Leo, but the siblings who represented his life's work. The protective feeling I had went way beyond professional concern or abstract justice. It was territory far more personal than either of us had been willing to acknowledge.

* * *

My phone buzzedas I sat at my home office grading research papers that ranged from insightful to “did you even read the book?” The screen displayed a name that made me pause mid-sentence: Leo Reyes.

I stared at the notification, momentarily frozen. In all our gradual reconnection, all our careful professional collaboration and accidental run-ins, Leo had never reached out first. The text itself was equally unexpected.

Leo

Need to talk. Important. Coffee at River Brew tomorrow, 7 PM?

The location, neutral territory rather than either's home or workplace, suggested he was still being cautious despite whatever urgency prompted this message. I responded immediately:

Ethan

I'll be there.

The next evening I arrived at River Brew ten minutes early, scanning the small café for Leo. He was already there, tucked into a corner table, papers spread before him in organized stacks. Even from the doorway, I could see the tension in his posture, the tightness around his eyes signaling serious stress.

“Hey,” I said, sliding into the seat across from him. “What's happening?”

“The custody review has been moved up,” he said without preamble, pushing a formal letter across the table.

I scanned the document, noting the bureaucratic language covering what was clearly targeted acceleration of a process typically treated as routine paperwork.

“They're also requiring additional documentation,” Leo continued, indicating the stacks of papers. “Character references, employment verification from all three jobs, household inspection with minimal notice.” His hand ran through his hair, a rare display of visible frustration. “It's technically within their authority, but the timing and requirements are clearly targeted.”

“Townsend's influence?”

“Almost certainly. Our social worker confirmed he's been asking questions about our case specifically.”

This situation had pushed Leo to unprecedented territory. He was actually reaching out for help beyond his usual self-sufficient management of family responsibilities.

“I need...” He paused, the words clearly difficult for him. “I could use some help with this. The character references need to come from community members with standing. Teachers, business owners, people with credibility in formal contexts.”

I understood immediately both the practical request and what it cost him to ask. Leo asking for help, especially from me, was like seeing a unicorn in the wild.

“Of course,” I said, already mentally composing the strongest possible letter advocating for his family's stability. “I can have a reference letter tomorrow. And I'm sure other faculty would contribute. Ms. Abernathy from your high school years still teaches English. She'd remember you, and her opinion carries weight.”

Leo nodded, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “That would help. The more institutional support we can demonstrate, the harder it is for them to justify intervention.”

We moved through the documentation requirements methodically, identifying potential references, organizing employment records, preparing a household inspection checklist. The focus on practical problem-solving created a partnership that went beyond our previous careful distance, necessity overriding caution as we developed a concrete strategy.

Occasionally our hands brushed across shared documents, or shoulders touched while reviewing requirements side by side. Each momentary contact carried an awareness of connection beyond our current circumstances, but neither of us mentioned the elephant sitting at the table with us.

“Why is Townsend targeting your family specifically?” I asked as we organized the final documentation. “This seems personal rather than just ideological.”

“It might be,” Leo admitted, his voice lower. “My father's been making noise around town, claiming the system unfairly separated him from his children. Apparently he's been talking to Townsend.”

“Your father?” I couldn't hide my surprise. Miguel Reyes had been largely out of the picture for years, based on the little Leo had shared.

“He was hospitalized again recently. Another overdose. Since discharge, he's been approaching the kids at school, making claims about wanting to reconnect.” Leo's jaw tightened. “He's not sober, despite what he's telling people. And Townsend's 'traditional family values' platform dovetails nicely with a narrative about reuniting children with their biological father.”

The full picture emerged with sickening clarity. Not just administrative harassment but a coordinated attempt to potentially disrupt a custody arrangement that had successfully protected three children for a decade.

“What can I do?” I asked simply.

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