Carson
The moment I walked through my brother’s front door, I knew things were worse than he’d let on.
The house looked like it had been hit by an emotional hurricane. Toys were scattered everywhere. A sink full of dishes. Laundry half-folded. A blanket fort in the living room drooping over one sad-looking dining chair as if surrendering to gravity.
And in the middle of it—Evan.
He sat on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, face in his hands. His shoulders trembled once, barely, but enough that the older-brother part of me moved before the thinking part did.
“Ev,” I said softly.
He lifted his head, eyes red, jaw tight in that way he tried to hide pain. “Hey.”
I hadn’t seen that look on him since we were kids. Since he was sixteen, he had been terrified after the crash. Since he didn’t know what the world looked like without parents in it.
I dropped my bag and sat beside him. “Tell me everything.”
He swallowed hard. “She’s gone, man. She just… left. Took the kids to her sister’s place. Said she needed space, time, air—something. I don’t know.”
His voice cracked again.
“And you talked to her today?”
He nodded. “I asked her to meet at the park. Thought maybe seeing me with the kids would remind her how much we have. But she was…” He let out a rough breath. “Closed off. Like I was a stranger bothering her.”
I leaned back, letting the silence stretch. Sometimes silence gave room for honesty.
“It’s all my fault,” he said finally, voice barely there. “I’ve been working too much. Taking jobs at night to keep the business afloat. I thought I was helping. But she says I wasn’t around. Says she felt alone.”
“Is she wrong?” I asked gently.
He flinched. “Maybe not. But I wasn’t doing it to hurt her. I was doing it because I thought it was what a good husband did.”
I nodded slowly. “A good husband tries. Sometimes, trying looks different on the outside.”
He dragged both hands through his hair. “I don’t want to lose her, Carse. I don’t want my kids growing up confused or hurt. I want to fix it.”
“You will,” I said quietly. “Or you’ll navigate whatever comes next. Either way, you’re not alone.”
He blinked fast, eyes filling again. “God, you always jump in like this.”
“Not always,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t true. When things fell apart, I came running. Always had.
“Thank you,” he said, voice thick.
“Of course.”
We talked for a long time…hours, maybe. About what Cara said, didn’t say, hinted at. About their schedules, the overwhelming chaos of raising young kids, and the exhaustion they both carried.
We made a plan—nothing dramatic. Just steps.
Call her once a day.
Focus on listening, not fixing.
Be present with the kids.
Take care of himself while taking care of them.
