I grab the throw blanket draped over the couch and gently tuck it around her. She murmurs softly in her sleep. For a moment, I just stare at her face. Her laugh lines are deeper now, her forehead creased with wrinkles. There are small patches of dark skin on her porcelain cheeks, like shadows of the life she used to have. She was always beautiful—blonde hair like Jasper, green eyes like the forest Dad loves so much.
What happened, Mom? When did you become this fragile shell of the person I grew up with?
I remember her dancing in the kitchen once, music blasting, arms waving like she didn’t care who was watching. That version of her feels like a dream now.
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me snaps me out of my thoughts. I jump, spinning around, fully expectingto see Brooks with that smug look on his face. But it's Jasper, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.
I take it without a word, and he motions toward the front porch. I follow him, each step louder than the last.
"How's Dad doing?" Jasper asks as we sit on the worn wooden bench. The air is cool and crisp, filled with the chatter of birds and the rustling of leaves. A pair of squirrels dart up a tree, their tiny claws scraping against the bark.
The words I want to say catch in my throat.Maybe you'd know if you showed up at the hospital.But I hold them back. Jasper's been here, living in this house, absorbing Mom's fears and habits like a sponge. What if her anxieties have bled into him, keeping him tethered here, too afraid to leave? What if I wasn't around to protect him when he needed it most? What if... all of this—our family being a mess—ismyfault?
"His stats are improving," I finally say, my voice steady despite the storm of thoughts in my head. "They're hopeful he'll wake up soon."
"What happens if he doesn’t wake up?" Jasper asks, his tone careful, like he's unsure if it's okay to even think the thought.
I nod, taking a sip of the coffee. It's too hot, but I don't care. "They were ready to give up on him yesterday, but somehow... he pulled through."
Jasper leans back, letting out a long breath, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Dad's tough," he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
We sit there in silence for a beat, the early morning sounds of nature filling the space between us. The coffee warms my hands, but it does little to ease the cold knot of guilt twisting in my chest.
My whole life, Mom drilled it into me: it's my job to protect Jasper.He's younger. He needs guidance. He needs someone tocheck on him.But no one ever stopped to ask what I needed. Who was supposed to look out for me?
"Brooks insisted I go foraging with you guys," I say, breaking the silence with a thin attempt at small talk.
Jasper sighs, a soft laugh escaping as he leans back on the bench. "He's been trying to get you to tag along with us for years."
I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"
He chuckles, but the sound is light, almost evasive. "I don't know. Ask him."
Typical Jasper. No follow-up, no elaboration. I shake my head, letting the question hang between us.
A moment of silence passes before I say, "I'm proud of you, you know."
His eyes flick to mine, startled for a second, but then he nods. "I know." His voice is quiet but sure. "You like every video I post. I've seen you reshare a couple of them, too."
I look down, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "You're very talented," I say, soft but genuine.
Jasper clears his throat, and I catch the faintest blush creeping up his neck. "It was Brooks who pushed me to put it online," he admits lowly, like it's a confession he's been holding onto.
“I'm glad he did," I reply, meaning it. "The world deserves to see what you can do."
Jasper shifts uncomfortably, like he's not used to hearing this kind of praise. "I never thought I could make a living off my art," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It doesn't even feel real sometimes."
I study him, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, his hands clasped loosely around his coffee mug. For the first time, I see him not just as my little brother but as someone with his own dreams, his own quiet strength.
"You should believe it," I say finally. "Because it is real. And you earned it."
He glances at me, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "Thanks, Ellie."
"Don't thank me," I reply, a smirk of my own tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Thank Brooks. Sound like he's the mastermind."
Jasper laughs, shaking his head. "He'd love to hear you say that."
"Yeah, not happening," I say, taking another sip of my coffee, the warmth spreading through me despite the damp morning air.
