Page 78 of The Silence Between

“It's not a luxury to need support, Leo. It's human.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, silence stretching between us. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a near whisper.

“Sometimes I wonder who I might have been if things had been different. If I'd gone to college at eighteen like I was supposed to. If I'd had the chance to figure out who I am outside of being responsible for everyone else.”

The confession cracked something open between us, something raw and real beyond practical concerns or necessary cooperation. For the first time since our reconnection, he was speaking from the heart rather than from his carefully constructed responsible guardian script.

“You'd still be you,” I said softly. “Still fierce and protective and stubborn. Still the person who puts others first. Still the boy who could quote Frost from memory and argue literary symbolism until three in the morning.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

The admission slipped out before I could think better of it, honesty breaking through my careful “just colleagues now” façade. Leo's eyes met mine, something shifting in their depths.

“I thought I was the only one who did that,” he said. “Remembered everything.”

The distance between us on the narrow balcony suddenly felt both vast and tiny, years of separation condensed into inches of physical space neither of us quite dared to bridge.

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked, the question that had haunted me for a decade finally finding voice. “The choice you made? Us ending when it did?”

He looked away, attention caught by the distant glow of West Riverton across the river, lights reflecting off water that had always divided our worlds like some heavy-handed literary symbolism.

“It wasn't a choice,” he said finally. “It was the only possible response to impossible circumstances. They needed me. All of me. There wasn't room for anything else.”

“And now?”

The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us had directly acknowledged. Leo's fingers traced the semicolon on his wrist, the gesture seemingly unconscious.

“Now is complicated in different ways.” He looked back at me, his expression a complicated mix of wariness and something that might have been hope. “The kids are older, but the stakes are higher.”

“You don't have to face it alone.”

“I've been alone for ten years.”

“You're not alone now.”

The simple statement landed between us with weight beyond its brevity. Leo's eyes searched mine for long moments, looking for something I desperately hoped he would find.

“I don't know what that means,” he said finally. “I don't know what any of this means.”

“It means whatever we need it to mean,” I offered. “No pressure. No expectations. Just... not alone.”

The faintest lightening of the sky announced approaching dawn, night's protection slowly yielding to day's reality. Soon his siblings would wake. The home inspection would loom. Life's demands would reclaim him.

“I should let you get some rest,” I said, making no move to leave. “The inspection's going to be stressful enough without sleep deprivation.”

“Stay.” The word surprised both of us, Leo looking momentarily startled by his own suggestion. “Just... a little longer.”

We sat in comfortable silence as night gradually surrendered to dawn, shoulders barely touching, neither pushing for definitions or commitments beyond this moment of shared vulnerability. At some point, Leo's head tilted toward my shoulder, exhaustion finally overwhelming his stubborn resistance.

I remained perfectly still, barely breathing, as he slept against me—the first time in ten years he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable in my presence. The weight of his trust settled over me like a blanket, more significant than any words we might have exchanged. I felt like I was holding a rare, endangered bird that might fly away at the slightest movement.

The rising sun painted the Riverton skyline in gold and amber, West and East briefly unified in shared illumination as another day began. I watched Leo's face in this gentler light, defenses temporarily abandoned in sleep, and made a silent promise to myself and to him.

This time, I wouldn't leave when things got hard. This time, I would stay.

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