Too many people.
Too many expectations.
My stomach drops.
I knew what he was dealing with, and I let him do this. I said it was okay for him to take the girls. I let him to step into something that wasn’t his?—
“Stop,” I murmur to myself, but it doesn’t stop. It keeps building.
I move into the kitchen, then brace my hands against the counter. What if this is my fault? What if I pushed him into something he couldn’t handle? I know how hard he tries. How much he pushes through. And what if today?—
What if today was too much?
The quiet presses in again so I push off the counter before I can spiral any further. Instead of tripping out, I grab Grandma’s bag and head upstairs. Pushing open her bedroom door…I stop in my tracks.
Ty.
Ty is sitting on the windowsill. Ty is sitting on the windowsill in my grandmother’s bedroom, staring at the floor like it has all the answers for world peace.
For a second, my brain doesn’t process it, until it does.
“Ty?”
He looks up, and everything in my chest explodes at once. There’s relief. Confusion. Something heavier threaded underneath.
“Where have you been?” I take a step into the room, the door falling shut behind me. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer right away. I don’t think he can. He stares at me and I see it. The quiet in him isn’t calm. It’s aftermath.
My heart stumbles.
“Are you okay?” I ask, without accusation. I only want to understand. “Lucy said you left and no one can reach you.”
“I couldn’t—” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening slightly like the words aren’t lining up the way he wants them to.
I move closer, slower this time, like sudden movement might break whatever this is.
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “You don’t have to?—”
“I tried,” he says, cutting in quietly. “I just…couldn’t pick what to do first.”
That lands harder than anything else he could’ve said.
My chest tightens, guilt flaring sharp and immediate.
“Ty, I?—”
“Don’t,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it your fault.”
I stop. Because that’s exactly where I was headed.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his knee.
“It was loud,” he says, like he’s sorting it out as he goes. “Too many things happened at once. I knew what I was supposed to do, but I couldn’t get there.”
