Holly shrugged, not looking at me. "Free country."
I settled beside her on the step, careful to leave a little space between us. Eden immediately betrayed Holly by shifting to place her head on my foot, ever the diplomat.
For a few minutes, we just sat in silence. The sprinklers kicked on in the neighbor's yard, creating a gentle background rhythm. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges.
"I'm sorry," I finally said. "I didn't realize you were there when I was talking to Grandpa."
Holly picked at a loose thread on her shorts. "It's fine. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping."
"You weren't eavesdropping. You were walking through your own house and heard something that was about you. Something that hurt you deeply." I paused, choosing my next words carefully. "Something you deserved to hear about directly, not by accident."
She glanced at me then, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. "So it's true? She wants to terminate her rights? Just... be done with me?"
The rawness in her voice nearly broke me. I'd spent years managing my own complicated feelings about my sister, but this was different. This was watching her wound her child, and it made me furious in a way my own pain never had.
"It's complicated," I said, because it was. "Your mom's addiction makes it almost impossible for her to think clearly about anything else."
"Not even her own kid?" Holly's voice cracked on the last word.
I turned to face her more fully. "Addiction is like... imagine the worst hunger you've ever felt. So bad your stomach is cramping and your head is spinning and you can't think about anything else. Now imagine feeling that way all the time, but about a substance instead of food."
Holly's brow furrowed. "So she's choosing drugs over me."
"No, that's the cruel part of addiction. It's not a choice anymore. The drugs hijack the part of her brain that makes choices." I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated at my inability to explain it properly. "Your mom loves you, Holly. I've never doubted that. But her addiction has stolen her ability to act on that love in any meaningful way."
Holly wiped roughly at her cheek with the back of her hand. "Then why doesn't she get help? Why doesn't she go to rehab or something?"
"She's tried. Many times." I sighed, memories of late-night phone calls and emergency room visits flashing through my mind. "It's not as simple as just deciding to get better. Recovery is hard, grueling work, and it often takes multiple attempts."
"So what happens to me while she's figuring it out?" Holly asked, the question that had clearly been weighing on her since she'd overheard my conversation. "Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?"
I reached out slowly and placed my hand on her shoulder, relieved when she didn't pull away. "That's where the rest of us come in. Your grandparents, me and Drew, we're here to make sure you're safe and cared for while your mom works on herself."
"If she works on herself," Holly muttered.
"If," I acknowledged, not wanting to offer false hope. "Either way, you're not alone, Holly. You have people who love you and want what's best for you."
She stared down at her hands. "But I'm still just this... problem to be solved. This obligation that gets passed around."
"No." The firmness in my voice made her look up. "You are not a problem or an obligation. You are a person—a smart, talented, incredibly resilient young woman who deserves stability and love and a chance to just be a teenager."
Her lip trembled slightly. "Then why doesn't she want me?"
The question hung in the air between us, so raw and fundamental that it took my breath away. I had to fight back my own tears before I could answer.
"Oh, honey." I shifted closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. "This isn't about you not being wanted or loved enough. Your mom's brain is literally rewired by addiction. She can't be the mother you deserve right now—maybe not ever. But that's about her limitations, not your worth."
Holly leaned into me slightly, her resistance beginning to crumble. "I hate that I still miss her. That I still want her to get better and come back. Is that pathetic?"
"Not even a little bit," I said firmly. "She's your mom. No matter what she's done or not done, it's completely natural to love her and want her in your life."
"It feels like betraying her," Holly admitted in a small voice. "Being here with you guys, being... happy sometimes."
"Being happy isn't betraying anyone," I told her. "And I promise you, the version of your mom that exists beneath the addiction, the real Rachel who's buried under all that pain, she would want you to be happy. To be safe. To thrive."
Holly was quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. Then she asked, "Do you miss her too? The real her?"
My throat tightened. "Every day. I miss the girl who used to make up silly songs with me when we were supposed to be doing dishes. Who taught me how to French braid hair and sneak out the bathroom window when we were teenagers." Iswallowed hard. "She's still in there somewhere. But I've had to learn to love her from a distance that keeps me safe."
