Chapter 27
After a morning spent talking about our feelings, the rest of the day feels… suspended. Not quite normal, not quite heavy. Just a kind of floating.
Keira and I spend the afternoon doing something startlingly adult: apartment hunting.
Some we scroll through on Zillow, others are sent by realtors I half-trust, and a couple we drive by, peeking through windows like kids outside a candy store.
They're all nice, clean, modern, overpriced, but my mind keeps looping back to the first one I saw.
The one with too much sunlight and just enough imperfection to feel real.
By mid-afternoon, we’re seated at a sidewalk table outside a new bistro, with lemon trees in terra cotta pots and menus that say things like “locally foraged” and “ethically emulsified.”
We order overpriced sandwiches and iced lattes we’ll pretend aren’t mostly ice. For a few minutes, we just sit. Let the sun warm our skin and the buzz of the city replace the echoes of the house we left behind.
Then I ask the question that’s been tapping at the back of my skull all day.
“So,” I say, casually. Too casually. “Do you like medicine?”
Keira looks up sharply, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Like… Tylenol? ”
I smirk. “No, like… studying it. Becoming a doctor. The whole path you’ve been on since you were old enough to hold a stethoscope.”
Her brows pinch together, like the question physically hurts her. Like it’s never been asked before, not like this. Not with genuine curiosity.
She shrugs. Then shrugs again, harder. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “I used to. I think.”
“You think?”
“I wanted to make them proud,” she admits, tracing a droplet of condensation around her glass. “Mom always said I was the smart one. The ‘future doctor’ of the family. It wasn’t a question.”
I nod slowly, letting that sit between us. “And now?”
Keira’s silent for a long beat. “Now I just want to feel like I have a say. Like I get to want something and not be punished for it.”
I take a sip of my drink, heart twisting. “You do.”
She looks at me then, eyes wide and cautious, like she’s not sure if she believes it yet. But she wants to.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “You don’t have to have all the answers today. Just… maybe don’t settle for the life someone else already built for you.”
She gives me the smallest smile. Not fake. Not forced. Just fragile.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll try. ”
I let her finish her fries, give her a moment to enjoy the rare peace between us. Then I bring it up, gently, but directly.
“I noticed you haven’t been going to classes.”
Keira stiffens, her hand pausing mid-air with a fry halfway to her mouth. “Yeah,” she mutters. “I’ve been… tired.”
Tired. The kind of word people use when everything else is too heavy to name.
“I’m not judging,” I say. “I just want to understand. And if we’re looking at new places and new starts, we should be honest about where we’re starting from.”
Keira drops her gaze to her plate, picking at the crust of her sandwich. “It felt pointless. I don’t have any friends. Even the professors don’t like me.”
That hits me harder than I expect. Years of being micromanaged, isolated, treated like a doll instead of a person, it makes sense. Of course she doesn’t have friends. Of course, she feels invisible.
“Besides,” she continues, “midterms are about to start and everyone’s already in study groups.”
“Were you assigned one?” I ask.
She nods, slow and reluctant. “Yeah. But I didn’t go. Mom demanded to sit in and ‘make sure we were actually studying.’”
Of course she did.
“Alright,” I say, keeping my tone steady.
“First thing you’re going to do is call your advisor and the student office.
You’re taking Mom and Dad’s access off your record, phone numbers, login permissions, everything.
Second, ask if there are any late-forming study groups.
Usually, there are a few for the latecomers. ”
Keira hesitates. “If I cut Dad out, he’ll stop paying.”
“I know,” I say gently. “And I have savings. We’ll be okay.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “Let me do this for you.”
Keira’s eyes well up with shiny, unspilled tears clinging to the edge.
“But you’ve already done so much,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
I reach across the table, wrap my fingers gently around her wrist. “And I’ll keep doing it, Keira. Not because I feel guilty. Not because I owe it to anyone. But because I want you to have the shot you were never given.”
She swallows hard. “What if I mess it up?”
“You probably will. Once or twice. Maybe more.” I give her a crooked smile. “But messing up doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to try.”
She nods slowly, then whispers, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I say, firm but kind. “Living with me will be better than where you were, but it won’t be a party.”
She quirks a brow, trying to smile .
“There’s going to be a curfew. I know you’re in college, but I need to know you’re safe. You are never to drink and drive. Ever. I don’t care what time it is, if you’re drunk, if your friend’s drunk, you call me. Anytime. Anywhere. No questions, no judgment. Just safety.”
Keira blinks, surprised, but nods.
“I’m going to expect you to keep your grades up, yeah. But more than that, I want you to figure out what you love. What excites you. I changed my major six times, so believe me, I get the indecision.”
She lets out a soft, watery laugh.
“And lastly,” I add, “I want you to get a job. Nothing full-time maybe waitressing, fast food, bookstore, whatever you’re comfortable with. Just something to give you a sense of your own money. Your own rhythm.”
Keira takes a deep breath. Her face is blotchy from crying, but her posture is straighter. Stronger.
“Okay,” she says.
I tilt my head. “Now, is there anything you need from me?”
Keira hesitates, chewing her lip. Then, almost too quiet to hear, she says, “Will you… teach me to drive?”
My heart stutters. “Yeah,” I say, voice thick but steady. “I’ll teach you. ”
A smile flickers across her face. Real. Hopeful. “Really?”
I nod. “Really. Just promise me you won’t run us off the road.”
She laughs, a full, startled laugh. “No promises.”
Before heading home, I decide to swing by the apartment again, the apartment, the one I can't stop thinking about. Keira's quiet on the drive over, still digesting everything from lunch, but the moment we walk through the door, something shifts.
She steps inside and just... breathes. Like her ribs can finally expand. Like maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s imagining a space that could be hers.
“You like it?” I ask.
Her answer is almost reverent. “I love it.”
I smile, a real one. “Me too.”
The realtor meets us in the entryway with the same chipper professionalism as before. I pull him aside, lowering my voice. “Just to be upfront, I’m going through a divorce right now. Will that be a problem for the lease?”
He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Happens all the time, actually. We’d just need a cosigner, your sister could do it if she’s willing, or we can look at your financials. A couple of character references would help too, but honestly? You're not an outlier. ”
Keira raises an eyebrow when I relay the cosigner bit. I can already tell she's turning it over in her head like she’s afraid to mess up something perfect.
“Don’t worry,” I say before she can spiral. “We’ll make it work. Together.”
And just like that, something starts to feel solid again. Not fixed. But possible .