Page 94 of The Silence Between

“One step at a time,” I said, the phrase that had carried us through a decade of impossible challenges.

Mari nodded, understanding what I wasn't saying. “That's all anyone can do.”

I squeezed her hand once more before standing up, stretching muscles tight from too many hours hunched over paperwork. My alarm would blare early tomorrow for my diner shift, and there were still lunches to pack and permission slips to sign before sleep could claim me.

Yet somehow, the endless to-do list felt slightly less overwhelming than it had a month ago. Not because the tasks had decreased, but because the weight of them had shifted. From crushing burden to manageable responsibility. From isolation to cautious connection. Like I'd been carrying a backpack full of bricks and someone had quietly replaced a few with foam replicas when I wasn't looking.

* * *

Sunlight struggledthrough the grimey windows of Damien's law office as I reviewed the documentation he'd prepared for our custody review. The legal language felt both foreign and familiar, technical terms I'd been forced to learn through years of system navigation woven through the story of our family.

“These statements from Diego and Sophie's teachers are particularly strong,” Damien said, tapping one section of the binder. “Their academic progress despite the disruptions with your father provides compelling evidence of stable home environment.”

I nodded, scanning the letters from educators who'd watched my siblings grow over years, Ms. Wilson documenting Diego's progress despite learning challenges, Sophie's art teacher describing her emotional resilience through creative expression.

“And we've addressed the housing concerns from the inspector?” I asked, flipping to that section.

“Completed repairs documented here,” the lawyer confirmed, “along with the letter from your landlord confirming lease renewal and the modest rent increase rather than the market rate jump he could have imposed.”

That rent negotiation had cost me pride but saved us several hundred dollars monthly, another example of learning to accept help without surrendering dignity. Eleanor's testimony as my employer, detailing my new management position and consistent advancement, provided income stability documentation that strengthened our case considerably. The manila folder was basically a paper version of my entire life, boiled down to official statements and form letters.

“The final piece is this affidavit regarding Miguel's supervised visitation violations,” Damien continued, his tone softening slightly. “I know this part is difficult, but documenting these incidents creates a protective record should he attempt to challenge your guardianship again.”

I nodded, throat tight as I reviewed the clinical description of my father's drunken appearance at our apartment building. The police report. Witness statements from neighbors. Evidence of a life derailed by addiction, laid out in black and white.

“He wasn't always like this,” I said quietly, the words escaping before I could stop them. “Before mom's accident, before the pills... he was a good father.”

Damien nodded, the judgment I'd feared absent from his expression. “That's why the tone throughout emphasizes his illness rather than moral failing. The goal isn't punishment but protection.”

I appreciated the distinction, though it did little to ease the familiar ache of what our family had lost, what might have been in another timeline where prescription opioids hadn't destroyed two parents and forced their teenage son to become father, mother, and brother to three children overnight. An alternate universe where I'd gotten to be just a regular kid instead of Family Manager.

“One more thing,” Damien said, pulling a business card from his desk drawer. “There's a family support group specifically for sibling guardians. They meet monthly at St. Mary's. Might be worth checking out.”

I took the card, surprised by the existence of such a targeted resource. “How did you find this?”

“Ethan asked me to look into support networks,” he said, watching my reaction carefully. “He thought you might be more receptive if the suggestion came from me rather than him.”

The revelation that Ethan had arranged this consultation without fanfare, had sought resources that might help us without making it about his involvement, created a warmth in my chest I couldn't immediately identify. Not gratitude exactly, though that was part of it. Something more complex about being seen, being known, being supported without being diminished. Like he'd managed to help without making me feel like I needed help.

“He's a good man,” Damien said, filling the silence my thoughts had created.

“Yes,” I agreed simply, tucking the card into my wallet. “He is.”

* * *

The rocky coastlineof Riverton felt cool beneath me as I sat watching the sunset paint the Pacific in shades of amber and gold. The waves crashed against the bluffs below, sending spray into the air that caught the dying light like scattered diamonds. From this vantage point, I could see the entire town spread out behind me, East and West temporarily united in the evening's golden glow.

The past weeks had shifted something fundamental in how I moved through the world. Not just the practical changes, my new job at the bookstore, college classes starting soon, the easing of immediate custody concerns, but something deeper about how I understood my place in the universe.

For ten years, I'd believed independence was the only safe option. That relying on anyone meant risking disappointment my family couldn't afford. That walls were necessary protection rather than potential prisons. That my own needs and wants were luxuries to be deferred indefinitely in service of responsibilities I'd accepted. The Leo Reyes Guide to Surviving: Do It All Yourself and Never Ask for Help.

The question was simple, even if the answer wasn't: What did I want with Ethan?

He'd proven himself reliable in crisis, thoughtful with my siblings, respectful of my boundaries. But there was more between us than practical partnership.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to consider possibilities I'd automatically rejected before. A partnership that strengthened rather than threatened family stability. Connection that supported rather than competed with my responsibilities. Balance rather than the all or nothing approach that had defined the past decade.

The prospect felt terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, like standing at these cliffs had once felt as a teenager, watching the waves crash far below and wondering what it would feel like to dive into that churning water.

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