Page 73 of The Silence Between

Mari read the message over my shoulder, her expression thoughtful. “He seems very invested in helping.”

“He's being kind,” I said, the deflection automatic.

“That's more than kindness, Leo.” She stood, returning to the door. “Sometimes I think you're so used to doing everything alone that you can't recognize genuine support when it's offered.”

After she left, I stared at the phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The practical information was useful, the legal resource potentially valuable. But accepting help with the actual apartment preparation felt like crossing another line, allowing Ethan further into the private world I'd kept carefully separated from our professional collaboration.

Leo

Thanks for the info and legal contact. We've got the cleaning covered. Appreciate the offer though.

I tucked the phone away and returned to scrubbing, trying to ignore the voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Mari, wondering if pride was a luxury we could afford with so much at stake.

* * *

The envelope saton the counter beside my lunch bag, the community college logo crisp against the white paper. I'd checked the mail between jobs, expecting bills and perhaps the formal notice of the custody review. Instead, I'd found this: the response to my application for evening classes.

I slid my finger under the flap, reality suspended in that moment before knowledge became irreversible. Like Schrödinger's cat, I was simultaneously accepted and rejected until I actually read the letter.

Dear Mr. Reyes, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into our Evening Studies Program beginning this fall semester. Additionally, you have been awarded the Returning Adult Learner Scholarship covering 40% of tuition costs...

The words blurred as contradictory emotions collided. Validation of academic potential I'd quietly doubted after ten years away from formal education. Excitement about a step toward the degree I'd deferred when custody of my siblings became priority. Financial assistance making the seemingly impossible slightly more accessible.

And immediate, crushing awareness that this opportunity arrived at the worst possible moment. Because of course it did. The universe had a twisted sense of humor when it came to my life.

How would a custody evaluator view my decision to add evening classes to an already full schedule? Would it be perceived as admirable self-improvement or evidence of divided attention away from family responsibilities? Would the time commitment be viewed as neglect of supervision duties or modeling educational commitment for my siblings?

The practical considerations multiplied like rabbits. Even with the scholarship, tuition would strain our budget.

The calculations spun through my head with the particular complexity familiar to anyone making decisions within a fragile system where one wrong move might collapse the entire structure.

My phone rang, interrupting the mental gymnastics. The high school's number flashed on the screen. Because of course it did. Perfect timing.

“Mr. Reyes? This is Principal Rodriguez from Riverton High. There's been an incident involving Diego. We need you to come in immediately.”

My heart sank. “Is he hurt?”

“No, but there was an altercation with another student. We need a guardian present for the disciplinary discussion.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes,” I said, grabbing my keys.

As I got to the school, I immediately went to the principal’s office. Principal Rodriguez's office had the particular sterility common to administrative spaces, with motivational posters that had hung so long they'd faded unevenly where sunlight hit them. I sat in one of the uncomfortable visitor chairs, back straight, expression carefully calibrated between concern and authority. Ten years of practice had perfected my “responsible guardian who definitely has everything under control” face.

Diego slumped beside me, his lanky teenage frame practically folded in on itself, eyes fixed on the floor. The red mark on his cheekbone suggested the “altercation” had been more than verbal.

What I hadn't expected was Townsend sitting behind the principal's desk alongside Rodriguez, his presence at a routine disciplinary meeting as out of place as a tuxedo at a swimming pool. Subtle.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Mr. Reyes,” Rodriguez began, her discomfort with Townsend's presence evident in her stiff posture. “As I mentioned on the phone, there was an incident between Diego and another student during passing period.”

“What happened?” I directed the question to Diego, who continued studying the industrial carpet like it contained the secrets of the universe.

“Mr. Sullivan claims Diego shoved him into a locker,” Townsend interjected before Diego could respond. “Quite forcefully, according to witnesses.”

I noted the immediate problems with this statement: Townsend speaking for the principal, the characterization of “claims” suggesting he hadn't witnessed the event himself, the emphasis on force that felt designed to escalate the situation.

“Diego?” I prompted again, keeping my voice level.

My brother finally looked up, anger and embarrassment warring in his expression. “Sullivan's been making comments all week. About our family. About... Dad showing up places drunk. Today he said CPS should've split us up years ago because you can't handle us.”

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