Page 88 of The Silence Between

His eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“And yet here we are.”

Leo's hand moved to his wrist, tracing the semicolon tattoo I'd noticed for a while now but never asked about. “I got this three years ago,” he said, changing the subject but somehow not. “After a night when continuing seemed impossible but stopping wasn't an option.”

The casual reference to suicidal thoughts hit me like a physical blow. “Leo...”

“I didn't do anything,” he clarified quickly. “Just thought about it. Hard. But I kept seeing Sophie's face, imagining her asking where I was, why I never came home.” His voice cracked slightly. “So I got this instead. A reminder that the story wasn't over, even when it felt like it should be.”

“A semicolon,” I said softly. “Where the author could have ended the sentence but chose not to.”

He nodded. “But lately I've been thinking maybe it means something else too. Not just continuing exactly as before, but...revising. Changing the approach. Accepting that walls built for protection might actually be making things worse.”

The vulnerability in his admission created an opening I hadn't expected, an invitation to deeper honesty. “When I came back to Riverton, I told myself it was about finding purpose again. About reconnecting with why writing mattered to me. But it was always about you too.”

His eyes lifted to mine, wariness and something like fragile hope battling in his expression.

“Not in some nostalgic way,” I continued. “Not trying to recapture what we had back then. But needing to understand how someone could leave such a mark that a decade couldn't erase it.”

The apartment was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of the neighborhood coming to life outside. Sunlight crept across the table between us, illuminating the plans we'd made, the coffee cups we'd emptied, the space we'd begun to bridge.

“I can't offer promises,” Leo said finally. “The kids still come first. Always.”

“I would never ask otherwise.”

“But I need...” He paused, searching for words. “I need to stop pretending I can do everything alone. And when I think about who I trust enough to let in, it's you. It's always been you.”

The words settled between us, neither a declaration of love nor a casual statement, but something honest and real that acknowledged both our complicated past and uncertain future. Before I could respond, a door opened down the hallway, followed by Sophie's sleepy voice.

“Leo? Is someone here? I smell coffee.”

The moment shifted, but didn't break. Leo's eyes held mine for one more second, communicating something without words, before he turned toward his sister.

“Ethan brought breakfast,” he called. “And we need to talk about some things as a family.”

Within fifteen minutes, all three siblings had gathered around the table, Sophie still in pajamas, Diego bleary eyed but alert, Mari watching everyone with careful attention.

I sat slightly apart, included but not central, as Leo began explaining the situation with a directness that surprised me.

“We're facing some challenges right now,” he said, not sugarcoating but not catastrophizing either. “Mari's college deposit is due this week. The custody review is continuing. Dad's been making noise about his rights. And I haven't been handling it well.”

The simple admission, acknowledging his limitations to his siblings, clearly wasn't something Leo had done often. Their faces registered varying degrees of surprise before Mari spoke.

“We know, Leo. We were there last night, remember?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Yeah. Not my finest moment.”

“It was about time,” Diego muttered, shocking me with his bluntness. “You've been acting like some kind of superhero for years. It's exhausting just watching you.”

Instead of defending himself, Leo nodded. “You're right. And it's not sustainable. Which is why we need to talk about changes.”

What followed was the most honest family discussion I'd ever witnessed. Leo explained the financial constraints around Mari's college deposit, the ongoing custody threats, and the need for adjusted expectations, not with false reassurance but with genuine transparency appropriate to their ages.

What struck me most was how the siblings responded. Not with panic or disappointment, but with immediate problem solving.

“I could defer enrollment for a year,” Mari offered. “Work full time, save money, and transfer next fall.”

“I could drop baseball,” Diego suggested. “It's expensive and takes up a lot of time.”

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