I smirk. “Asshat made me play third base. Then he married my sister.”
Her head lifts slightly. “No.Not… Mike?”
“Yep. That Mike.”
She lets out a surprised breath. “I guess he’s okay?”
I shrug. “I mean… he gave her Evan.”
“That’s your nephew, right?”
“Right. Kid’s a handful. Smart as hell. Thinks the sun rises and sets on his mom.”
“I bet,” she murmurs. And something about her tone—wistful, a little distant—pulls at me.
“Yeah. Thing is, Kelly never thought she’d have kids. Doctor told her she couldn’t. Some issue they found when she was younger. Said it would be impossible.”
“Oh,” Willow whispers. “That must’ve been… hard.”
“It was. The before, I mean. Watching her go through all that.” I pause. “But she had people, you know? Mike. Me. Our folks. We all showed up for her. Reminded her she wasn’t alone.”
And just like that, I feel the shift.
Her hand—where it’s been lazily moving against my chest—goes still.
Her whole body stills.
And the silence that follows?
It’s not peaceful.
It’s heavy.
Weighted with all the things she’s not saying.
I don’t push.
But I feel it. Deep in my bones. That ache inside her.
That ache ofnothaving a net. Of going through life without anyone showing up just to remind you theyseeyou. That you matter. That you’reloved.
I wait. Just long enough to know she’s not gonna say it.
So I do the math.
I think about the way she doesn’t talk much about her childhood.
The way she sometimes watches other people laugh like she’s on the outside looking in.
The fact she never mentioned siblings. That the only thing I’ve ever heard about her mother makes my stomach twist.
And it hits me, low and hard.
She didn’t have any of that.
No loud big sister.
No obnoxious family dinners.
