He looks at the block, then at the space beside it. A tiny nod. I set it down, and his hands drop from his ears.
“Okay,” I murmur, placing the next piece where his eyes dart. “Here?” The pattern soon reappears, his breathing slows, and my panic drains out through the soles of my feet.
“Liv?” Amelia’s voice drifts through the speaker. I’d almost forgotten she was still on the phone.
“It’s okay,” I say, closing my eyes. “It’s okay now.”
“Do you want me to come over?” she asks immediately. “Say the word.”
I press a hand into the rug, anchoring myself in something solid. “No. It’s alright. Thank you. I’ve got him.”
“Okay. Text me later, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I will.”
I hang up because I need both hands for the apology. I slide off my heels, get on the floor until I’m small, until I’m eye level with him and the world he was building. “That one’s on me,” I say, palms up. “I’m sorry I moved your blocks. I’ll ask next time, okay?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Instead, we rebuild his tower together in a quiet that feels like a truce. Each block I place is careful now. Intentional. I match his rhythm, wait for his nod or his glance before reaching again. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a shift in the air—like the static’s clearing just enough for him to let me in. Not all the way. Just a sliver. But I’ll take it.
When the tower’s finally back to what I assume is its proper glory, Teddy stands, shuffles across the rug, and pulls a battered picture book from the shelf. He holds it out.
“For me?” I ask, blinking hard against the burn behind my eyes.
Teddy nods once, solemnly.
I take it like it’s a sacred offering. “Okay. One book. Then we get ready for bed.”
He pads back to the couch without a word, climbs up, and pats the spot beside him. And that’s the thing no one tells you about moments like these—not the parenting books or the articles I frantically read at midnight when I don’t know if I’m doing any of this right. That trust doesn’t come in grand gestures or big speeches. It comes in blocks rebuilt, in picture books offered without a word, in silence that softens just enough to feel like a maybe.
Sebastian comes home an hour later. I hear it all before I see him—the lock clicking, the familiar thud of his boots, the whisper of his jacket sliding off his shoulders. His eyes land on me first, before shifting to the lounge, to Teddy, rocking gently with a book cradled in his lap.
And that’s all it takes. Sebastian’s gaze narrows.
“What happened?”
The question carries weight, and still, somehow, I’m stunned he even knows. The way he clocks the shift in the room, the way his eyes dart to the smallest cue, to Teddy’s fingers still twitching slightly against the pages. How he’s rocking. Suddenly, the guilt claws its way up my throat. Because I hadn’t called him when I should’ve.
“I, uh…” I rise slowly, voice awkward. “I think I packed up his blocks while he was still using them, and he became pretty upset. But we fixed it. He showed me where things go—we did it together.”
“If he has an episode, you call me.” It isn’t harsh. Or cruel. But it still slices across the moment like it is.
Heat pricks my neck. “Okay, but I handled it.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t.” His eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m saying… tell me. I need to know.”
The breath I let out tastes bitter. Like pride and adrenaline and something else knotted tight in my chest. “I understand that. I do. But have a little faith, okay?” My voice softens. “I know I’m new at this. But I’m learning him.”
Something flickers behind his eyes. Something tight and unreadable. He nods once, jaw working. “Okay.”
But the silence that falls doesn’t feel resolved. It feels suspended. Like something hanging between us that neither of us can quite grab. I glance toward Teddy, then back at Sebastian. And I wonder what battle he’s been fighting alone. How long he’s been carrying the weight of this little boy’s world on his shoulders. How much it’s cost him to protect it.
God. What if he was married? I mean, yeah, I’ve known him for years, but I never knew past the part of him being my brother’s best friend. What if this is the part no one talks about, the grief buried in the corners of his silence? What if she left? What if she—
I wish I knew how to ask where his story begins.No. Stop.It’s not my place to pry. For now, I say nothing. I just stand there, watching the man who feels more like a mystery every time I think I’ve figured him out.
I clear my throat. “Bath’s ready when he is.”
He nods again and crouches beside the couch, his hand coming to rest gently on Teddy’s head. He murmurs somethingtoo low for me to hear, so I busy myself by picking off the pills on my shirt, half-listening to Diesel barking his head off in the backyard.
