"What?" My head jerks back.
For one unbearable second, I see it—the terror behind her eyes, the grief she can’t name. And then anger floods in, hot and choking, because she’s giving up before he’s even gone.
"He’s not coming back," she says louder this time, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I need boxes," she says, her voice trembling before it flattens. "Five should be enough."
Brooks steps beside me, close enough that I can smell pine and laundry detergent and something warm and familiar that makes my chest ache. He places a steady hand on my arm, letting me know I’m not alone.
"Boxes for what?" I whisper. "What are you doing?"
"Ellie can go to the store to get them," Mom says sharply, waving a hand at me like I’m an annoying fly she can’t quite swat away. "She’s asking too many questions."
I stand frozen, my mouth opening and closing, completely unprepared for this version of my mother.
Brooks steps in before I can respond, his voice calm but firm. "Mrs. Donovan… Ellie’s just trying to help. We all are."
"I’m packing up his things," she says flatly, like she’s already decided. "He’s not coming home."
Silence falls heavy between us.
Jasper shifts beside me, his hands balling into fists, and my throat burns as I swallow past the lump forming there.
"But Mom… he’s, he’s still alive," I manage to say. "The doctors think he’s improving. You can’t just—"
"Ihaveto," she says, her eyes meeting mine for the first time, and for a split second, I see all her pain, fear, and the unbearable weight of grief. "I have to be ready."
Brooks’ thumb gently rubs small circles on my skin, grounding me when I feel like I might collapse under the weight of her words.
"We’ll get the boxes," Brooks says quietly.
I whip my head toward him, my eyes wide with disbelief, but his gaze holds steady, silently telling me not now.
"Fine." I let out a defeated breath, my chest heaving. "Let’s go."
Mom turns away, her shoulders sagging under an invisible load and I feel my heart crack straight down the center. Because I see the fear and anxiety she lives with like ghosts. And my heart physically aches for her.
Brooks gives my arm the lightest squeeze, like he knows I’m one second away from breaking, and then he carefully guides me out of the room, his hand lingering on my back as if to sayI’ve got you.
As we step into the hallway, I feel Jasper’s eyes on me, filled with confusion and hurt. But I can’t stop. Not yet.
"Let’s get the stupid boxes," I mutter as Brooks closes the door softly behind us.
And as I take a sobering breath, I wonder if we’re already too late to fix what’s been broken.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Things I Can’t Post
I’m exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.
Packing up Dad’s things took all the strength I had left. We labeled the boxes, stacked them neatly in the garage. Out of sight, out of mind. Close enough to unpack when he gets home. Far enough away to keep Mom from unraveling.
But duty calls.
So, here I am, sitting in the woods beneath a white oak tree, camera in hand, faking a hike for content. I have to post something today. I’m out of drafts. Out of pre-planned, polished clips that make my life look effortlessly curated. If I don’t upload soon, my engagement will keep plummeting.
I blow out an exhausted breath, forcing a smile as I press record. Muscle memory takes over.
"Hiking in the wilderness," I chirp, wiping fake sweat from my forehead with a dramatic sigh. The laugh feels forced. All of this feels forced. But it’s all I have.
