Page 86 of The Silence Between

“We had a good teacher,” Diego mumbled, the anger of minutes ago replaced by gruff affection.

Somehow, we made it through the rest of the evening. Mari took charge of dinner while I helped Sophie with homework. Diego disappeared to his room but emerged later to wash dishes without being asked. We functioned, not perfectly but adequately, as I allowed myself to step back from orchestrating every detail.

The apartment fell silent around midnight. I sat alone on the balcony, the emotional aftermath of my breakdown leaving me hollow but somehow lighter. The night air carried the scent of coming rain, lights from West Riverton reflecting off low clouds.

I'd spent ten years believing that absolute independence was the only way to protect my family. That any vulnerability would be exploited, any help would come with strings attached, any partnership would eventually crumble under the weight of our complicated reality.

But today had shown me something different. Ethan, Marcus, and the lawyer appearing when I most needed support. My siblings stepping up when I finally allowed them to see my limitations. The possibility that walls built for protection might actually be increasing our vulnerability by cutting us off from resources we desperately needed.

I reached for my phone and typed a text to Ethan.

Leo

I need help. Not just with practical things. With everything.

The words stared back at me from the screen, terrifying in their nakedness. No qualifications, no limitations, no careful boundaries. Just raw truth I'd never allowed myself to express.

My thumb hovered over the send button for a long moment. Pressing it would change everything—admitting need, inviting connection, accepting vulnerability. The possibility of rejection or disappointment loomed large in my mind. What if this was a mistake? What if I was trading one kind of risk for another, even more dangerous kind?

But continuing as I had been wasn't sustainable. Today had proven that beyond any doubt.

I hit send before I could change my mind.

18

RECONSTRUCTION

ETHAN

The text message lit up my darkened bedroom at 1:15 AM, yanking me from restless sleep into instant alertness.

Leo

I need help. Not just with practical things. With everything.

Leo's words glowed on the screen, simple but devastating in their nakedness. No qualifications. No careful boundaries. Just raw vulnerability from a man who'd spent a decade building walls to keep the world at bay.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I read it again. After the confrontation with Townsend earlier, after witnessing Leo's carefully controlled demeanor in that hostile meeting room, this unfiltered cry for help felt like watching someone's armor finally crack after an impossible siege.

I sat up, fully awake now, weighing my response with care. This wasn't just any late-night text. This was Leo deliberately lowering his defenses, reaching out when everything I knew about him screamed how difficult that must have been.

Too much enthusiasm might overwhelm him, send him retreating back behind his walls. Too little might feel like rejection when he'd risked everything to ask. The timing created its own complications—middle of the night, sleeping children, the practicalities of physical presence versus emotional support.

I typed, deleted, and retyped my response three times before settling on:

Ethan

I'm here. Do you want me to come over now, or wait until morning? Either way, I'm with you. Just tell me what you need.

His reply came almost immediately, suggesting he'd been staring at his phone, perhaps already regretting his vulnerability:

Leo

Morning would be better. Just knowing you're willing to help... it matters. Thank you.

We established a time and I promised to bring coffee and breakfast. The conversation shifted to practical matters: Mari's college deposit, the ongoing custody review, Townsend's apparent alliance with Miguel. Planning gave Leo something concrete to focus on, a way back to familiar territory after stepping into the unknown with his initial message.

Our final exchange lingered in my mind as I tried unsuccessfully to fall back asleep:

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