I didn’t just leave, I cut them off.
And I built a life that had nothing to do with them.
I push my plate forward and sit back.
On one hand, Holden’s not wrong. I did what I had to do to survive.
But once I was okay—really okay—I didn’t look back. I didn’t call. I didn’t visit.
I didn’t just leave. I went silent and I called it strength.
"Maybe I wasn’t selfish," I say aloud, more to myself than Holden. "Maybe I was just... tired."
He doesn’t respond.
"Tired of being the one who always held everything together," I continue. "Tired of carrying a family that never felt stable. Tired of being needed."
My chest tightens as I think of Jasper. Of Mom. Of Dad, before the stroke.
Dad tried to carry it all, didn’t he? Before Brooks stepped in, he was the one keeping the whole fragile structure upright. Barely, but he tried.
And now?
I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to carry anymore, or if I even want to.
The weight isn’t on me, but the guilt is. And maybe that’s worse.
"Elowen?" Holden’s voice pulls me back, his hand waving in front of my face. "You okay?"
I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah. What were you saying?"
"I was asking how the world of social media was going?"
"It’s great," I lie smoothly. "Really exciting, you know?"
Holden nods, but something about his expression doesn’t match his agreement. Like he’s just going through the motions.
"What’s your favorite part of it?" he presses.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my fork.
I should eat. I should at least try.
I cut into the chicken parmesan, taking a slow breath. "The people. I get to interact with some really great people."
"I bet you have," he replies, the sound flat. Like he doesn’t really care about my answer.
"What’s your favorite part about being a resident?"
"Being useful," he says. "On the good days."
I keep my eyes on my plate and shove a mouthful of chicken into my mouth instead.
"It feels like you’d rather be anywhere other than here right now," Holden says, watching me closely.
Detective-level observation skills.
"I just have a lot on my mind," I say, picking at my food.
