Chapter 18 When Silence Feels Loud
When Silence Feels Loud
Remi
The silence in my car is deafening.
I should’ve turned the radio on twenty minutes ago, but I didn’t.
I just kept driving—gripping the wheel tighter every time I thought about the way Coleman held me last night.
The way it felt to wake up tangled in him like we’d been doing it for years.
The way he made me coffee. The way he remembered my mug.
The way I didn’t want to leave.
That’s the part that scares me the most.
I didn’t have to come to my parents’ today. I told him I did, but that was a lie. A soft one. A safe one. The truth is, I couldn’t stay. Not alone with him. Not with how easy it was to fall asleep in his arms and forget that everything between us is supposed to have limits.
Because it didn’t feel like a fling.
It didn’t feel temporary. It felt like home. And if I let myself believe that for too long, I won’t be able to leave at all.
So I made myself. Left the house. Drove down streets I grew up on, watching the sidewalks blur into soft-edged memories. Told myself that once the girls are back tomorrow, things will return to normal.
I’ll bake cookies. Pick up forgotten ballet slippers. Mediate glitter-covered meltdowns. And when Stella comes to get them, I’ll pack a bag and go. That’ll be the rule now. No more staying overnight when the girls aren’t home. No more quiet mornings that feel too much like forever.
I pull into the driveway and force my expression into something resembling okay.
My mom meets me on the porch like she always does, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. My dad’s just behind her, stepping out of the workshop in the back, rubbing sawdust off his shirt.
“Look who the wind blew in,” my dad grins.
“I thought you were bringing the girls,” Mom says, leaning in to hug me.
“They’re with their mom this weekend.”
Her smile fades just a little, but she nods. “Come on in then. I just pulled banana bread out of the oven.”
I let the smell guide me into the kitchen, let the warmth wrap around me and pretend it’s enough to quiet my thoughts.
Over coffee and fresh slices, the conversation eventually circles back to the girls.
My mom asks how they’re doing, and I tell her honestly—better.
They’ve started smiling. Laughing, even.
Paige leaves her room now. Payton doesn’t flinch when I sit beside her.
They’ve been through more than they let on, but they’re trying.
“I just want them to trust me,” I admit, turning my coffee mug slowly in my hands. “To know I’m not going anywhere.”
My dad leans back in his chair. “You’re already doing that, kiddo. Trust doesn’t happen in grand gestures. It’s in the every day things. Showing up. Listening. Remembering they like extra syrup or hate the sound of the vacuum.”
“They need someone who sees them,” my mom adds gently. “Not just feeds them or drives them to school. Someone who notices.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper.
“You are,” my dad says. “And they’re noticing too.”
Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Why don’t you bring them here later this week? I’ll teach them how to make my lasagna from scratch. They’ll love it.”
I swallow the sudden knot in my throat. “You think so?”
She smiles. “I know so. Those girls need a little more Remi magic in their life.”
And for the first time since I left Coleman’s house this morning, I breathe a little easier.
Because maybe… just maybe… I’m not imagining all of this.
Maybe the girls feel it too.
Maybe I really am becoming part of something worth staying for.
I am supposed to be here when they get home.
That was the promise.
“I’ll be here waiting,” I told them. “Before you even walk through the door.”
But traffic had other plans. So did the two loads of laundry I thought I needed to finish before I went home.
I ended up leaving them in the washer and rushing out the door. I'll have Matthew rewash them later. It's more important for me to be here.
The house is quiet.
Not the warm, sleepy kind of quiet that makes you feel safe.
This one’s colder.
Still.
The kind of quiet that makes your stomach twist because you know something’s wrong—even if no one says it out loud.
I push the door open slowly, suitcase rolling behind me as the sun starts to dip behind the trees.
A couple minutes after I get home Coleman's car pulls in the driveway.
My chest tightens with hope. I’ve missed them more than I want to admit.
But when they walk in the door all I see are broken girls. Girls that have retreated back to where they were before.
They are silent.
No thundering footsteps down the hall.
No Paige asking me what’s for dinner like she’s the boss of the place.
No Payton giving me that soft, wary glance she only lets slip when she thinks no one’s watching.
Just… silence.
Something flickers in their eyes when they see me standing in the entry way.
“You are here?” Paige says in a soft voice. Almost like she isn’t sure I am and doesn't want to feel silly.
“Dad said you wouldn't be here when we got here.” Payton says and Paige takes a breath.
“I thought I was going to be late. But this was more important than anything I had to do.”
Paige gives me a small smile and Payton nods. They keep their book bags on their shoulders and walk past me to the stairs. Paige brushes her hand against mine as they pass and I feel like collapsing and taking them into my arms.
Why are they acting like this?
I leave my bag by the stairs and follow the distant sound of a cabinet closing in the kitchen. Coleman’s at the counter, pulling out the stuff for dinner. He glances up when he sees me and offers a quiet smile.
I hesitate. “Are they… okay?”
He glances over his shoulder at me, the corners of his eyes tired. “They’re always like this after Stella’s. Nothing you did.”
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek. “You sure? I promised I’d be here when they got home. I thought it would make them happier that they were home. That everything was back to normal.”
He sets down a fork a little harder than necessary and turns to face me fully. “Remi, they know you care. If they’re upset, it’s not about you. It’s what Stella does to them. Every time. They close off. Shut down. It takes a day or two to get them back.”
Still, I can’t shake the guilt.
“I thought we were making progress,” I whisper.
He steps closer, gentler now. “You are. You’ve made more progress with them than anyone ever has. But you’re not the reason they’re hurting right now.”
I nod, even though it still feels like I let them down.
Because for a week, I had them.
Their smiles. Their stories. Their messy lip gloss experiments and stolen hugs.
And now it’s like we’ve hit reset. Like I’m back to day one.
I spend the next hour baking cupcakes—vanilla with bright pink frosting and way too many sprinkles. I leave the tray on the counter and knock gently on each of their doors.
“Girls?” I call softly. “I made something sweet if you’re hungry…”
No answer. Just the faint creak of bed springs and the shuffle of a blanket.
I press my palm to Paige’s door for a second longer before stepping back.
“They’ll come down when they’re ready,” Coleman says behind me. His voice is low, careful, like he’s trying not to spook me.
I look over at him. “I just thought… maybe cupcakes would help.”
He steps closer. “They will. Tomorrow.”
I nod again, trying to swallow the knot in my throat. “I’ll eat in my room. Give you guys some time.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” But I do it anyway.
I take a plate and retreat upstairs. The food doesn’t taste like anything, but I eat anyway—just for the routine of it.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone when there’s a soft knock at the door.
Coleman pushes it open slightly and leans in. He’s already showered, hair damp, dressed in a faded gray tee and sweatpants. He looks tired in the kind of way that sinks into your bones.
“They’re asleep,” he says.
I manage a small smile. “That’s good.”
He pauses. “They’ll come back to you, Remi.”
My heart lurches at the way he says it—like I’m already theirs. Like it’s just a matter of time before they realize it again.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
His eyes linger on me a second longer. “I missed you last night.”
My breath catches. “I missed you too.”
He nods, and something flickers in his expression. “Goodnight,” he says softly.
“Goodnight.”
He closes the door behind him, leaving me in the dim quiet of the room.
I sit there for a long time, waiting for the noise in my head to settle.
Eventually, I slip out of bed and pad barefoot down the hall.
Their door is cracked—just enough.
I peek inside and find them curled into each other, arms tangled, breathing slow and steady.
Relief floods me so hard I have to hold the frame to steady myself.
They’re okay.
Maybe not all the way, but they’re getting there. And maybe tomorrow will feel a little more like it used to.
I return to my room, heart aching in too many ways to count.
Tomorrow, I’ll make it up to them.
Before I crawl back into bed, I leave my door cracked too. Just in case.