Page 84 of The Silence Between

“Townsend's overreach today gives us leverage,” Damien explained, sliding a business card across the table. “I'd like to represent your family pro bono for the remainder of the custody review process.”

I stared at the card, suspicion automatically rising. Ten years of dealing with systems had taught me nothing came without strings. “Why would you do that?”

“Because Ethan asked me to look into your case, and what I found concerns me professionally and personally.” He gestured toward the door where Townsend had exited. “The intersection of school board politics and family court should never look like what happened today.”

I picked up the card, studying the embossed lettering. “I can't afford someone like you.”

Damien smiled. “That's the beauty of pro bono work. You don't have to.” He closed his portfolio. “I have three younger siblings myself. Our circumstances were different, but I understand something about what you've built here. It's worth protecting.”

The simple acknowledgment from a professional who'd seen the ugly underbelly of the system created a complicated tangle of emotion I wasn't sure how to process. Before I could respond, Ethan put his arm around me.

“Leo?” His voice was gentle, concern evident in his expression. Everyone else had gone, leaving just the three of us in the silent conference room.

“Ethan's the one you should thank,” Damien said, standing. “He called me at midnight when he heard about this meeting. Said it was worth waking me up.” He extended his hand, which I shook automatically. “I'll be in touch tomorrow to discuss next steps for the custody review.”

After Damien left, I found myself alone with Ethan, the silence suddenly heavy between us.

“How did you know?” I asked, my voice rougher than I'd intended.

“Marcus noticed the meeting on Rodriguez's calendar and thought it seemed unusual.” He approached cautiously, giving me space. “Damien and I went to college together. He owes me a few favors.”

“Calling in favors for us?” The question held more weight than the simple words suggested.

“For you,” he corrected quietly. “All of you.”

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.

I wasn't. Not even close. But I nodded anyway, automatic response from years of having to be okay regardless of circumstances. When I tried to stand, my legs felt strangely disconnected from my body, fatigue hitting like a physical blow.

Ethan's hand settled on my shoulder, warm and steady. I didn't pull away.

“Thank you,” I said, the words inadequate but all I could manage.

He nodded, understanding what I couldn't say. “Let me drive you home.”

In any other circumstance, I would have refused. Today, I simply followed him to the parking lot, too exhausted to maintain the walls that usually kept everyone at safe distance. For once, letting someone else take the wheel didn't feel like surrender. It felt like the first rational decision I'd made all day.

* * *

The door felt heavierthan usual as I pushed it open, bracing myself for the quiet that usually greeted me after school hours. Instead, I walked into a storm.

Mari stood in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face as she clutched a letter in her trembling hand. Diego sat hunched on the couch, headphones on, radiating the particular tension of someone deliberately disconnecting from emotional chaos. Sophie hovered between them, her face pinched with anxiety as she tried to play peacekeeper in a situation beyond her capabilities.

“What's happening?” I asked, dropping my keys on the side table.

Mari thrust the paper toward me. “Northwestern housing deposit is due by Friday. Non-refundable. Two thousand dollars we don't have.”

The scholarship letter I'd been so proud of two weeks ago now felt like a cruel joke. Tuition support meant nothing if we couldn't cover housing. The deadline meant we couldn't save up over time. The non-refundable clause meant we couldn't put down a placeholder while figuring out the rest.

“We'll figure it out,” I said automatically, the phrase I'd been repeating for a decade when faced with impossible financial obstacles.

“How?” Mari's voice cracked. “We don't have it. We're not going to have it by Friday. And without housing, the scholarship is worthless.”

Diego yanked his headphones off. “Just tell her to go to community college like you were supposed to do,” he snapped. “Nobody in this family gets to actually leave.”

“Diego,” I warned, but he was already building momentum.

“What's the point anyway? They'll just find another reason why we're not good enough. That's why they called you to school today, right? To explain how I'm screwing everything up again?”

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