“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t say things just to reassure me,” I tell her. “He speaks when he’s already decided.”
She nods slowly.
“Then I’ll trust your judgment,” she says at last.
Relief and fear coil together in my chest.
“You shouldn’t have to,” I murmur.
“No,” she agrees gently. “Buthere we are.”
She turns her attention back to Ethan, brushing her thumb lightly along his knuckles again.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch them.
My family.
The fragile structure my father held together through routine and stubborn love. The house with the chipped blue paint. Sunday dinners. Ethan arguing over nothing just to feel alive. And now this.
Ethan stirs slightly, his brow tightening before it relaxes again. Mom leans closer, whispering reassurances even though he’s not fully awake.
Mom looks up at me again.
“You look different,” she says quietly.
“How?”
“Still. Not in shock. Just… still.”
I consider that.
“I’m thinking,” I reply.
“About him?” she asks gently.
“About what this requires.”
Her face softens. “You’re allowed to be his sister.”
“I am,” I agree. “But I also need to be realistic.”
“And realistic means?”
“It means not pretending this can be ignored,” I say evenly. “It means being aware is safer than being surprised.”
She studies me again, and I see pride and worry flash in her eyes.
“Your father would have hated this,” she murmurs.
“Yes,” I answer quietly. “He would have.”
Not because of Kiren. Because of the danger brushing too close to his family.
I reach across the bed and adjust Ethan’s blanket slightly, smoothing it down carefully.
“I won’t let this happen again,” I say, more to myself than to her.
