“My mom tried to balance it,” I continue. “She was the one who made it feel like a home. Like we mattered.”
My chest tightens.
“Then she died when my sister Katia and I were teenagers,” I say quietly.
Jake’s posture shifts immediately. The edge in him softens into something alert and focused.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen,” I whisper. “Katia was sixteen.”
Jake’s hand tightens on the arm of the chair.
“And after that,” I continue, voice getting shakier, “my dad got worse. Not in a mean way. In a… disappearing way. Like the only thing he knew how to do was work, and grief just made him double down.”
I blink hard.
“It was like we became… background noise,” I admit.
Jake’s expression darkens.
“And Katia,” I say, the name tasting like pain.
I hesitate.
Jake waits.
“Katia and I were close,” I say. “We still are. Or… we were. She was the one who snuck into my room at night when I couldn’t sleep and made me laugh even when everything was awful.”
My throat tightens.
“But after Mom died, she started… slipping,” I say. “At first it was little things. Parties. Older friends. Coming home late. Then it was stronger stuff.”
“My dad didn’t know how to handle it,” I continue. “He’s a control person. He understands rules. Discipline. Consequences.”
I let out a small, broken laugh. “He doesn’t understand addiction.”
Jake’s eyes stay on me. Steady.
“Recently,” I say, my voice barely there, “he threw her out.”
I force the words out.
“He said he couldn’t support her lifestyle anymore. That he wouldn’t be an enabler. That she was choosing drugs over family.”
My eyes burn.
“And maybe she was,” I add quickly, because I hate how guilty I feel even thinking it. “But it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.”
Jake’s voice stays low. “When did you last talk to her?”
My stomach twists.
“Not since she moved out,” I admit. “I called. I texted. She never answers. I don’t even know where she is. If she has somewhere to stay.”
My hands curl into fists in my lap.
“When my dad kicked her out, I thought she’d come to me,” I whisper. “I always think she’ll just show up at my door one day. Or at least call.”
