“Hehasstructure,” Noah said, his voice finally cracking. “He’s loved. He’s safe. And let me remind you, Nat wanted this, and we’re not going back on her.”
His mom’s eyes softened for a second. “We know you love him, sweetheart. That’s not the question. We love him too.”
I couldn’t listen anymore. This was too painful, too awkward. The urge to walk over and put myself between them was so strong my chest hurt, but I stayed where I was, clutching Sassy’s collar and focusing on Miles. He was humming under his breath, completely oblivious, coloring the side of his racetrack with markers.
I stood and forced my voice to sound normal. “Hey, bud,” I said quietly. “You want to help me make dinner?”
He perked up immediately. “Mac and cheese?”
“Even better,” I said, trying to smile. “Homemade chicken tenders. You can be in charge of the breadcrumbs.”
He scrambled up, and Sassy followed him like a shadow.Miles might’ve become Sassy’s favorite person due to how much food he dropped. The girl trailed after him and had more snacks than ever before.
We moved into the kitchen, and I did my best to keep things noisy—pots clanging, oven preheating, laughter when Miles accidentally dumped half the breadcrumbs on the floor. My attempt worked for a few minutes. Then, from the hall, a voice rose just enough to make the hair on my neck stand up.
“Do you even hear yourself?” his father said, sharp and tired. “You’re one injury away from losing everything, and then what? You think a five-year-old should live throughthatkind of instability? You aren’t the right choice. Your sister messed up. Foolish, out of her mind. Probably on drugs.”
I gritted my teeth, squeezing the wooden spoon in my hand. Sassy whined again, resting her head on Miles’s knee.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Noah said, low and even.
His mother’s voice came next, quieter but no less cutting. “You can’t do everything, Noah. Not alone. You’re not thinking about him right now. You’re being selfish. God, you’re being so unreasonable. You’re not giving us a choice but to use a lawyer.”
The silence that followed the statement was deafening. I didn’t move, my lungs frozen. This reminded me of my own family’s dysfunction, especially post-stroke. I swallowed hard and turned the burner down, pretending to check on the oven. Miles held up his hand, flour streaking his cheek. “Did I do it right?”
“You did it perfect,” I said, kneeling to help him shake the rest off his fingers.
When the front door finally shut, the silence fell again, only this time, it was different—one full of exhaustion instead of tension.
Noah came back in slowly, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow.His face was pale, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. “They’re gone,” he said, more to himself than to me.
I nodded, wiping my hands on a towel. “Good. We’re making dinner if you want to join us. You can also take a few minutes if you need it.”
He stared at the floor for a second, then looked up. “They brought the paperwork,” he said flatly. “They’re serious this time.”
I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound hollow, so I stepped closer and handed him a plate. “Eat first,” I said softly. “One thing at a time, okay?”
He hesitated, but when Miles tugged his sleeve and proudly announced that he’d “made dinner all by himself,” Noah’s expression cracked just enough to let a smile through. He crouched, scooping Miles up with one arm and kissing the top of his head.
“Smells good, buddy,” he said, voice rough.
“It’s crunchy,” Miles said proudly. “Em said that’s the fancy way.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Extra crunchy means professional chef status.”
For a little while, the air lightened. We ate around the table, and Miles kept the conversation moving with nonstop chatter about kindergarten, dinosaurs, and the absolute injustice of bedtime. Sassy sat under the table, tail thumping every time someone laughed.
I watched Noah between moments, the way his hand stayed tight around his fork even when he was smiling, the way his shoulders never fully lowered. He looked like someone fighting off exhaustion with sheer willpower. But when Miles leaned against him halfway through dinner, whispering something about a dream he’d had, Noah’s entire face softened.
He was breaking apart and holding himself together at the same time.
After we cleaned up, Miles yawned hard enough to make his jaw pop, and Noah scooped him up to carry him to bed. Sassy followed them down the hall, nails clicking on the tile.
When he came back, the condo had gone quiet again. I had a million questions for Noah but didn’t want to bother him. I waited ten, then twenty minutes to see if he’d return to the kitchen. He didn’t, so he must’ve gone to bed. Disappointment hit me, but it was probably for the best. He needed rest, and I was glad he slept. I had a ton of work to do, especially since I needed more materials and found a few more projects.
The time was late.The only sound was the low hum of the fridge and the soft tick of the clock over the stove. My laptop glowed on the kitchen table, the cursor blinking at the end of a sentence I couldn’t bring myself to finish. I let Sassy out for the final time and hoped to work for another two hours.
Half a dozen tabs were open—SEO notes, client briefs, deadlines that didn’t care that my real job had already eaten me alive this week. The copy I’d been ghostwriting was supposed to sound like passion, like purpose, but it all read like cardboard.
