Page 135 of None Of Your Business

“I love you,” he repeats, softer this time, making sure every word lands. “Which means I refuse to watch you retreat into a shell because it’s easier than standing up for yourself. You survived the pain, Ro. You can survive this conversation.”

He’s right. God, he’s right. If I run away now, I’m letting the old habit win.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Okay.”

He lets go of my arms, reaches out, and takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. “I’ve got you.”

When we walk back inside, the dining room is empty. The heavy silence has moved into the living room.

Madison and Noah sit on the couch, calmer but exhausted. They must have explained the clinical details while we were outside. As soon as I walk through the doorway, Madison gets up, pulls me into a tight hug, and whispers, “I love you.”

Noah wraps his arms around both of us, presses a kiss to the top of my head, then quietly gathers their things and leaves us.

“I’ll be right outside,” Hudson says, squeezing my hand before letting go.

Mom and Dad are standing near the fireplace. The room feels stretched tight.

Mom turns to look at me, and my breath hitches.

Tears are streaming down her face. She stays rooted to her spot, looking across the rug at me, and for a terrifying second, it feels like looking at my centerpiece from the gallery. Two submerged figures, separated by dark, murky water, trying to find each other through the deep.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom chokes out, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry we could only see each other… and we never saw you.”

My parents have been madly in love since they were teenagers. Through her illness, through the hospitalizations, through the manic highs and terrifying lows, they were consumed by each other. They were surviving each other. And in the middle of that storm, I was the baby sitting behind glass, keeping quiet so the world wouldn’t break.

A sob erupts from my throat just before she pulls me into her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she cries, her fingers smoothing through my messy red hair, holding my head against her chest just like she used to when I was little. “I’m so sorry. Let me take care of you now. Please, let me take care of you.”

I collapse against her, sobbing into her shoulder, letting years of quiet isolation wash out of me as I finally allow myself to just be the daughter.

I feel Dad’s arm on my back and the vibration of his body.

A guttural sob breaks from his chest. “My baby girl,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around both of us.

We sit on the living room floor, the dark water between us finally beginning to drain away.

Forty-One

Outside, rain slaps against the windshield in uneven sheets, blurring the glowing yellow arches of the McDonald's drive-thru sign into long streaks of gold.

I lean my head back against the headrest and watch the wipers swipe across the glass.

“They’re going to suffocate me.” My voice is raspy from crying. “Mom’s already talking about bringing over food tomorrow. Dad asked if he needs to drive me to my next specialist appointment.”

“How do you feel about that?” Hudson asks, his hands resting on the steering wheel.

I shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet.”

I take a slow breath and let the exhaustion settle into my bones. The emotional dam has broken, but my body is paying the toll of the adrenaline crash.

When we finally stopped crying and hauled ourselves up off the living room floor, my body felt like it had been run over by a truck.

That’s when Dad tried to offer the old defense. He looked at me with soft, apologetic eyes and said, “Rowan, you have to understand. We took you to the doctors. We tried. But nothing was found.”

It acted like a match tossed into a dry forest. They’re not doctors. I never expected them to figure out what was wrong with me. I just wanted them to trust me enough to believe me.

The anger flared up so fast in my chest I couldn't stop it. Years of quiet resentment burst right through my ribs, and before I could filter the words, I spat them out. I said things that were jagged around the edges. Maybe they were hurtful. Maybe they were just the plain, ugly truth. I haven't quite figured out where the line between the two sits yet.