Page 93 of The Silence Between

The moment stretched between us, filled with everything we weren't saying, before Sophie's voice broke the spell. “Leo! Mrs. Abernathy wants to know if we can do this again next month!”

I turned toward my sister, back to the safety of practical matters and clear responsibilities. But the warmth of that unspoken connection lingered, an ember carefully banked but not extinguished.

* * *

“Haveyou decided on the meal plan?” I asked, watching Mari scroll through Northwestern housing options on her laptop. The kitchen table was covered with forms and brochures, the detritus of college preparation I'd never experienced myself. Paper chaos that somehow represented success.

“The mid level one, I think,” she said, clicking through options. “It's the best balance between cost and flexibility.”

The scholarship paperwork had come through yesterday, Northwestern's financial aid office finally processing Ethan's loan as the deposit that had secured Mari's place. The money was officially a loan between us, with repayment terms I'd insisted on despite his protests. My pride wouldn't accept charity, but my love for Mari had allowed me to accept help that made her dreams possible. My pride and practicality had been having arm-wrestling matches a lot lately, with practicality winning more often.

“That looks reasonable,” I agreed, studying the cost breakdown. “And you're sure about the double room? A single would give you more privacy.”

Mari glanced up from the screen, that knowing look in her eyes I'd never quite figured out how to defend against. “A double costs less and means I'll have someone to navigate campus with. Stop looking for problems to solve, Leo.”

“It's my job to think of everything,” I said automatically.

“No, it's your job to trust that you raised me well enough to handle college.” Her voice softened. “I'm going to be fine.”

I nodded, the familiar tightness in my throat whenever I thought about her leaving making it hard to speak. Pride and fear tangled together in my chest, pride in the remarkable young woman she'd become, fear of the hole her absence would leave in our carefully balanced family system. It was like removing a key support beam and hoping the whole house wouldn't collapse.

“It's not just about you,” I admitted finally. “It's about how we manage without you. The practical stuff, who picks up Sophie when I'm working late, how Diego gets to therapy when I have class.”

“We'll figure it out,” she said, echoing the phrase I'd repeated through a decade of impossible challenges. “Diego's old enough to take the bus now. Sophie can join the after school program on Tuesdays. Mrs. Hernandez already said she'd help with dinners on your class nights.”

I stared at her, surprised by how much she'd already planned. “You've thought this through.”

“Of course I have. I wasn't going to leave you hanging.” She closed her laptop, fixing me with that direct gaze that reminded me so much of our mother before addiction had hollowed her out. “But I'm more worried about you taking on too much. The bookstore job, your classes, the custody stuff... it's a lot, Leo.”

The role reversal felt disorienting, my little sister worrying about me rather than the other way around. Ten years ago, I never would have allowed this conversation, would have insisted everything was fine, maintained the fiction of invulnerability I'd thought they needed. Super Leo, able to handle multiple crises in a single bound.

“It is a lot,” I acknowledged, the admission still feeling dangerous even now. “But it's worth it. Your education, my classes, the bookstore. For the first time, we're building something beyond just surviving.”

Mari nodded, something softening in her expression. “And Ethan? Where does he fit in all this?”

The question caught me off guard, though it shouldn't have. Mari missed nothing, especially not the careful dance Ethan and I had been performing since my breaking point, present in each other's lives but maintaining certain boundaries, supportive without defined commitment, connected without clear labels. She'd probably been taking notes and building a relationship timeline.

“That's... complicated,” I managed.

“Is it?” she challenged gently. “Or are you making it complicated because you're scared?”

“Both,” I admitted after a long pause. “There's a lot at stake. The custody review. Your college transition. My new job. It's not just about what I want.”

“But what do you want?” she pressed. “Just you, Leo. Not as our guardian or provider or protector. You.”

The question hit like a physical blow, so simple and yet so impossible to answer after a decade of setting myself aside. What did I want? Beyond survival, beyond stability, beyond responsibility? I'd spent so long ignoring that question that I'd almost forgotten how to answer it.

“I want...” The words came slowly, unfamiliar in my mouth. “I want to see where things might go with him. But carefully. Slowly. With eyes wide open.”

It felt like confessing a crime, admitting to this desire that wasn't directly tied to my siblings' welfare. But Mari's face showed no judgment, only a gentle smile that made her look suddenly older than her twenty years.

“He sees you,” she said simply. “Not just what you do for everyone else, but you. Do you know how rare that is?”

I shook my head, uncomfortable with her perception but unable to deny its accuracy.

“You deserve someone who sees how extraordinary you are,” she continued, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Even if you're too stubborn to see it yourself.”

The validation from someone who knew me better than anyone, who had watched me at my strongest and my most broken, created a crack in the wall I'd built around certain hopes. Not demolishing it completely, but allowing light to filter through in a way I hadn't permitted before. Like finding a window in what I'd thought was a solid wall.

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