Holy shit. Are you serious?
Me
Yeah. I couldn't watch him kill himself slowly anymore. Long story very short, he's moving to Seattle.
Three dots appear and disappear and appear again.
Sable: Can I call you when you're home? If we’re looking at housing, Dad has a lot of money left from Mom’s life insurance policy. Anything extra I can pick up.
Me
Okay. We can talk about that when I’m home.
Back at the condo, I collapse on the couch while Silas makes coffee in the kitchen. The familiar sounds of cabinets opening and the coffee maker gurgling are soothing and normal and grounding. When my phone rings, I answer immediately.
"Scout." Sable's voice sounds tight and wound up. "I'm so glad Dad's okay. And I'm proud of you for saying what needed to be said."
"I yelled at him in a hospital bed while he was bruised and broken. I'm an awful daughter."
"You're not awful. You told him the truth." I hear her breathing, careful and measured. "I should have done it years ago. I should have backed you up instead of making excuses about being too busy with work or too far away to help."
"Sable, you couldn't have known that this would happen. You're a very busy professional. It's not your fault your job is demanding. I could have taken a page from your book and learned to set healthy boundaries with Dad."
"You listen to me, Scout." Her voice cracks and breaks open. "You think I have it together? You think I'm thisperfect, successful person who knows what she's doing? I cry in my car between sessions, Scout. Half the time I don't believe my own advice. I'm drowning too, just with better hair and a fancier degree."
The admission knocks the air from my lungs. I've spent so many years comparing myself to Sable, beautiful and successful and confident Sable. She always seems to glide through life while I stumble and fall and scrape my knees bloody.
"I didn't know," I whisper.
"I know you didn't because I didn't want you to. I can't have anyone see that I'm just as much of a mess as everyone else." Sable sniffles. "But seeing you finally set boundaries with Dad makes me realize how heavy this has been for both of us. We've been carrying so much without asking for help because we thought we had to."
Tears stream down my face again, but these feel different and cleaner somehow. "I thought I was the only one struggling."
"You never were. I just got really good at pretending." Her voice steadies and strengthens. "We'll help Dad together, okay? We'll find him a place, get him settled, make sure he follows through with therapy. But we'll do it as a team, okay? And we won't lose ourselves in the process."
"Okay," I manage. "We'll do it together."
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet of the living room wearing Silas's hoodie that swallows my frame while coffee cools in my hands. I feel raw and exposed, like I've shed a skin I didn't know I was wearing. I've been walking around with this weighted vest for so long that I forgot what it felt like to breathe normally.
Silas appears from the kitchen and sits beside me on the couch without a word. He doesn't ask if I'm okay or try to fixanything. He just pulls me against his chest and lets me cry into his shirt while his hand strokes my hair in slow, soothing motions.
"I like this hoodie on you," he murmurs eventually.
I huff a watery laugh against his chest. "It's basically a dress."
"I still like it." His arms tighten around me, solid and sure. "I love knowing you're wrapped up in something of mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should annoy me. It should trigger all my independence alarms and all my warnings about losing myself in someone else. Instead it makes me feel safe and claimed in a way that doesn't require me to disappear or demand I sacrifice who I am.
"We should figure out what to eat," I say. Neither of us moves, though.
"In a minute." He presses his lips to the top of my head, the gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "Just let me hold you first."
God, I think I'm in love with him.
I let myself be held and cared for. I rest against the solid wall of his chest while the morning light streams through the windows. His heartbeat stays steady under my ear, a rhythm I could get used to.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I stop carrying the weight of everyone else's world. I stop trying to fix what's broken in other people. I stop sacrificing myself on the altar of being needed.
