Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
K aitlyn's phone buzzed for the third time that morning as she climbed the steps to Paradise Harbor House. Her mother's name flashed on the screen again, accompanied by a photo from happier times—both of them smiling at her college graduation, before she knew the truth. Before she discovered the other family photos, the ones where her father smiled just as proudly beside a different daughter.
She silenced the phone and shoved it deep into her bag. The morning air was thick with humidity, promising another scorching Key West day. Through the open windows of the old Victorian, she could hear Elena's voice directing someone to the donation room, the familiar creak of floorboards under new feet.
"Perfect timing," Elena said as Kaitlyn entered, her clipboard tucked under one arm. "We have a new arrival I'd like you to meet."
The woman stood in the common room, three children clustered around her like satellites. Her dark hair was pulled back in a hasty ponytail, and she held herself with the rigid posture of someone expecting the world to strike at any moment. The oldest child, a girl around seven, kept one hand on her younger brother's shoulder while the toddler clung to their mother's leg.
"This is Carla," Elena said softly. "And her children—Christina, Dominic, and Jack. They arrived late last night."
Kaitlyn noticed the way Carla's eyes darted between them, measuring, assessing. The way she kept her children close, like a mother bird shielding her nest. The familiar ache bloomed in Kaitlyn's chest—the one that appeared whenever she thought about families and secrets, about the sister she had never known.
"Welcome to Paradise Harbor House," Kaitlyn said, keeping her voice gentle. "I'm Kaitlyn. I help out here with…well, whatever needs helping with."
Carla nodded curtly, her fingers absently stroking her youngest's hair. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, telling stories of sleepless nights and endless worry. "Elena said there might be clothes? For the kids?"
"Of course," Kaitlyn replied, recognizing the deflection for what it was—a mother focusing on practical needs to avoid darker thoughts. "The donation room's this way. We just got some new things in yesterday."
As they walked, Kaitlyn's phone buzzed again in her bag. She ignored it, but Carla's sharp glance told her the other woman had noticed. "Someone trying to reach you?"
"Just my mother," Kaitlyn said, the words tasting bitter. "I can talk to her later."
Something flickered in Carla's eyes—recognition, maybe, or understanding. Christina pressed closer to her mother's side, and Kaitlyn saw how the girl watched everything, absorbing the undercurrents of adult conversation like a small sponge.
The donation room was organized chaos—racks of clothes sorted by size, boxes of toys and books, shelves of essential supplies. Kaitlyn had spent time the day before organizing everything after the latest community drive.
"Take whatever you need," Kaitlyn said, gesturing to the racks. "Christina, I think I saw some books over there that might interest you. And Dominic, we have a whole box of cars and trucks if you'd like to look."
The children glanced at their mother, waiting for permission. Carla nodded slightly, and they drifted toward the offerings, though Christina kept glancing back as if to ensure her mother hadn't vanished.
"They're good kids," Kaitlyn observed, watching as Dominic carefully showed his little brother a toy car.
"They've been through a lot," Carla said, her voice tight. "Their father…he left. Just disappeared one day. Cleaned out our accounts, canceled the cards. Turns out he had another life all set up, just waiting." Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "Funny how people can do that, isn't it? Just walk away like the life they're leaving doesn't matter."
The words hit Kaitlyn like a physical blow. Her phone buzzed again, the sound muffled by her bag. On the other side of the room, Christina was showing Dominic something in a book, her voice soft and nurturing despite her own youth.
"Yeah," Kaitlyn managed, her throat tight. "Funny how that works."
Carla began sorting through the clothes with efficient movements, checking sizes and conditions. Her hands shook slightly, but her voice remained steady. "I don't want pity. We just need…time. Space to figure things out."
"That's what Paradise Harbor House is for," Kaitlyn said, focusing on the practical to steady herself. "We have programs, resources. Ways to help you rebuild." She paused, then added more softly, "And sometimes just having someone listen helps too."
Carla's hands stilled on a small t-shirt. "Maybe," she said, but her shoulders relaxed fractionally. "The kids need stability first. Everything else can wait."
As if on cue, Jack toddled over, clutching a stuffed bear nearly as big as himself. His face lit up as he offered it to his mother, and for a moment, Carla's careful composure cracked. She scooped him up, bear and all, pressing a kiss to his curls.
Kaitlyn turned away, giving them privacy. Her phone had gone silent, but she knew there would be more messages waiting. Her mother never could take a hint. Just like she had never noticed—or never admitted—what had been happening right under her nose all those years ago.
Through the window, she could see the resident kitten strutting past, his bouncing amusing the children. The sight normally made her smile, but today it just reminded her of how appearances could be deceiving. How families could look perfect from the outside while hiding fault lines deep beneath the surface.
"Would you like help carrying things to your room?" she asked, turning back to find Carla had assembled a small pile of necessities.
"We can manage," Carla said quickly, then seemed to reconsider. "But…thank you. For not asking questions. For just…" She gestured vaguely at the room, at her children, at everything.
"That's what we do here," Kaitlyn said, and meant it. Even if her own wounds were still raw, maybe she could help someone else heal. Maybe that would be enough.
As she watched Carla and her children navigate the stairs with their selections, Kaitlyn's phone buzzed one final time. A text from her mother: "Please call me. We need to talk."
She deleted it without responding. Some conversations weren't ready to happen. Some truths needed time to settle, like dust after a storm. For now, there was work to be done, people to help, stories to tell that didn't include her own.
But watching Christina help her brother carry his treasures, Kaitlyn couldn't help but wonder about another girl, not so far away, who shared her eyes, her father's smile, and a life she would never know.
The bungalow was quiet when Kaitlyn returned, though the smell of Tess's latest culinary experiment lingered in the air. She found her aunts on the back porch, Leah working on paperwork while Tess jotted down menu ideas for the Paradise Harbor House event. Ernest strutted past, pausing to eye the remains of Tess's cooking with his usual literary criticism.
"How was your day?" Tess asked, looking up from her notebook. "Elena mentioned you had a new family arrive."
Kaitlyn dropped into the worn wicker chair, suddenly exhausted. "Yeah. A mother and three kids. The father left them." She pulled out her phone, deleted three more missed calls from her mother without looking at them. "Apparently he had a whole other life set up."
Leah's pen paused mid-sentence. "That must be hard on the children."
"The oldest girl, Christina—she's trying so hard to be strong for her siblings." Kaitlyn's voice caught slightly. "Kids shouldn't have to deal with stuff like that. She's what, seven? Eight? And she's already acting like a second mother."
"No, they shouldn't," Tess agreed softly, watching her niece with careful eyes. "Are you okay? You seem…"
"Fine," Kaitlyn said quickly. Too quickly. "Just tired. And Mom keeps calling. You know how she gets."
"Gretchen always was persistent," Leah said, using their sister's name in that particular way she had when disapproving of something. "Maybe you should talk to her. She worries."
"She worries when it's convenient," Kaitlyn muttered, then forced a smile. "Anyway, I should work on the Paradise Harbor House website. Elena wants to highlight our family support programs."
"Wait," Tess called as Kaitlyn started to rise. "I made key lime bars. New recipe for the fundraiser. You should try one."
"Not hungry." Kaitlyn's phone buzzed again. This time it was a text, and she caught a glimpse of the preview before deleting it: Mom: Sweetheart, please. We need to discuss…
"Have you had dinner?" Leah asked, her tone careful. The one she used when trying not to spook a nervous client. "And you're not sleeping well. We can hear you up late at night."
"I'm fine," Kaitlyn repeated, the words worn smooth from repetition. "Just…processing everything with Paradise Harbor House. Getting to know the families. It's emotional work, you know?"
Tess and Leah exchanged a look—the kind that had developed over decades of sisterhood, the kind that carried entire conversations in a single glance. Kaitlyn used to envy that connection. Now it made her stomach twist.
"We're here," Tess said simply. "Whatever's going on. Whenever you're ready."
"I know." Kaitlyn managed another smile, this one feeling like it might crack her face. "I just need to work on this website. The families deserve to have their stories told properly."
As she headed inside, Kaitlyn heard Leah whisper to Tess, "Something's not right with her."
"Give her time," Tess whispered back. "Whatever it is, she'll tell us when she's ready."
"But Gretchen…"
"Let it be, Leah. You know how complicated mother-daughter relationships can be."
Kaitlyn closed her laptop a little harder than necessary. If only they knew. If only they understood why every happy family photo on Paradise Harbor House’s website felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Her phone buzzed one more time—not her mother now, but a social media notification. Her finger hovered over it, knowing what she'd find if she looked: another perfect family moment, another smiling photo of the sister she'd never known.
Some truths were better left buried, even if they refused to stay quietly in their graves. Even if they haunted every conversation, colored every interaction, turned even the simplest family moment into a minefield of unspoken words.
Through the window, she could see Ernest pecking at invisible treasures in the withered herb garden. At least his world was simple—food, sunshine, and the occasional literary criticism. He didn't have to worry about families and their secrets, about the way truth could split a life in two as cleanly as a knife through water.
Her phone lay silent now, but she knew it wouldn't last. Her mother never could take a hint. And now, with every passing day at Paradise Harbor House, watching families piece themselves back together, Kaitlyn felt the weight of her knowledge growing heavier.
She opened her laptop again, forcing herself to focus on the website. There was work to be done, stories to tell that didn't include her own. For now, that would have to be enough.