Chapter 11
EM
By the time afternoon rolled around, the air in the condo felt sharp with nerves.
Noah had been pacing the length of the kitchen since lunch, checking his phone every few minutes, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.
Miles was sprawled on the living room rug with Sassy, pretending to build a racetrack out of couch cushions.
I’d spent the morning trying to keep things light, but my nerves were like sitting on a live wire.
He hadn’t said much, but he didn’t need to. Every muscle in his body said it for him.
His parents were coming.
And not just coming—they were coming with intent, with a plan, with something they could hand him on paper. I didn’t know the background and didn’t want to ask. I was used to being the peacekeeper, and I could replicate that here too. I made jokes, kept things light.
At four-thirty, I saw it happen—the switch. He went from anxious to calm, the kind of quiet that wasn’t peace at all, just control. His hands were steady when he grabbed his keys and said, “Stay in with Miles, okay? I’ll meet them in the lobby.”
He didn’t ask. He told me.
I nodded. “Got it.”
He exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck, and forced a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t let him worry. Please. He doesn’t… know this.”
“Not a chance.” I kept my voice even, though my stomach started twisting.
I also didn’t know what this was, but I knew enough about shielding kids from hard shit.
I hid the stress and pain from my two younger siblings when my mom had her stroke and my dad had an affair.
I was happy all the time, performing, really.
I knew this role well and slid into it easily.
When the elevator doors closed behind him, the silence left behind was deafening. Even Sassy lifted her head, whining softly like she could feel the tension too.
Miles looked up from his fortress of couch cushions. “Is Uncle Noah okay? Where did he go?”
I knelt beside him, brushing a hand through his hair. “He’s just talking to his mom and dad, remember? Grown-up stuff. Boring stuff.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Like taxes?”
I chuckled. “Exactly like taxes.”
He giggled, then went back to stacking pillows, thankfully satisfied with the answer. I kept an eye on the clock, pretending to scroll through my phone while my ears strained for any sound from the hallway. Five minutes. Then ten. Then fifteen.
By the time the elevator dinged, my heart was in my throat.
Noah came in first. His parents followed far enough to stop at the threshold.
His mom was dressed in one of those expensive coats that looked more like armor than clothing, her hair perfect even in the gust of cold air from the hallway.
His dad looked like he’d come straight from the office—pressed shirt, eyes sharp.
The tension hit the room like smoke.
“Noah,” his mom said, and there was a brittle edge to her tone. “You should’ve had us over sooner. We need to talk.”
“I told you I’d talk,” he said, his tone low but steady. “Not in front of Miles.”
His dad crossed his arms. “You don’t get to control that. We’re family. You don’t shut us out.”
“I’m not shutting you out,” Noah said, moving half a step forward, blocking their view of the living room. “You can see him. But not today. Not until we’re on the same page.”
His mom sighed, glancing past him into the condo. “You look tired. This isn’t sustainable. You’re traveling half the year, juggling a child, a career—”
“I’m managing,” he said tightly.
“Barely,” his father cut in. “We filed the paperwork because you won’t listen, son. We can provide stability. A schedule. He needs structure. Nat would hate this.”
“He has structure,” Noah said, his voice finally cracking. “He’s loved. He’s safe. And let me remind you, Nat wanted this, and we’re not going back on her.”
His mom’s eyes softened for a second. “We know you love him, sweetheart. That’s not the question. We love him too.”
I couldn’t listen anymore. This was too painful, too awkward.
The urge to walk over and put myself between them was so strong my chest hurt, but I stayed where I was, clutching Sassy’s collar and focusing on Miles.
He was humming under his breath, completely oblivious, coloring the side of his racetrack with markers.
I stood and forced my voice to sound normal. “Hey, bud,” I said quietly. “You want to help me make dinner?”
He perked up immediately. “Mac and cheese?”
“Even better,” I said, trying to smile. “Homemade chicken tenders. You can be in charge of the breadcrumbs.”
He scrambled up, and Sassy followed him like a shadow. Miles might’ve become Sassy’s favorite person due to how much food he dropped. The girl trailed after him and had more snacks than ever before.
We moved into the kitchen, and I did my best to keep things noisy—pots clanging, oven preheating, laughter when Miles accidentally dumped half the breadcrumbs on the floor. My attempt worked for a few minutes. Then, from the hall, a voice rose just enough to make the hair on my neck stand up.
“Do you even hear yourself?” his father said, sharp and tired. “You’re one injury away from losing everything, and then what? You think a five-year-old should live through that kind of instability? You aren’t the right choice. Your sister messed up. Foolish, out of her mind. Probably on drugs.”
I gritted my teeth, squeezing the wooden spoon in my hand. Sassy whined again, resting her head on Miles’s knee.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Noah said, low and even.
His mother’s voice came next, quieter but no less cutting. “You can’t do everything, Noah. Not alone. You’re not thinking about him right now. You’re being selfish. God, you’re being so unreasonable. You’re not giving us a choice but to use a lawyer.”
The silence that followed the statement was deafening.
I didn’t move, my lungs frozen. This reminded me of my own family’s dysfunction, especially post-stroke.
I swallowed hard and turned the burner down, pretending to check on the oven.
Miles held up his hand, flour streaking his cheek. “Did I do it right?”
“You did it perfect,” I said, kneeling to help him shake the rest off his fingers.
When the front door finally shut, the silence fell again, only this time, it was different—one full of exhaustion instead of tension.
Noah came back in slowly, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. His face was pale, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. “They’re gone,” he said, more to himself than to me.
I nodded, wiping my hands on a towel. “Good. We’re making dinner if you want to join us. You can also take a few minutes if you need it.”
He stared at the floor for a second, then looked up. “They brought the paperwork,” he said flatly. “They’re serious this time.”
I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound hollow, so I stepped closer and handed him a plate. “Eat first,” I said softly. “One thing at a time, okay?”
He hesitated, but when Miles tugged his sleeve and proudly announced that he’d “made dinner all by himself,” Noah’s expression cracked just enough to let a smile through. He crouched, scooping Miles up with one arm and kissing the top of his head.
“Smells good, buddy,” he said, voice rough.
“It’s crunchy,” Miles said proudly. “Em said that’s the fancy way.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Extra crunchy means professional chef status.”
For a little while, the air lightened. We ate around the table, and Miles kept the conversation moving with nonstop chatter about kindergarten, dinosaurs, and the absolute injustice of bedtime. Sassy sat under the table, tail thumping every time someone laughed.
I watched Noah between moments, the way his hand stayed tight around his fork even when he was smiling, the way his shoulders never fully lowered.
He looked like someone fighting off exhaustion with sheer willpower.
But when Miles leaned against him halfway through dinner, whispering something about a dream he’d had, Noah’s entire face softened.
He was breaking apart and holding himself together at the same time.
After we cleaned up, Miles yawned hard enough to make his jaw pop, and Noah scooped him up to carry him to bed. Sassy followed them down the hall, nails clicking on the tile.
When he came back, the condo had gone quiet again.
I had a million questions for Noah but didn’t want to bother him.
I waited ten, then twenty minutes to see if he’d return to the kitchen.
He didn’t, so he must’ve gone to bed. Disappointment hit me, but it was probably for the best. He needed rest, and I was glad he slept.
I had a ton of work to do, especially since I needed more materials and found a few more projects.
The time was late. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge and the soft tick of the clock over the stove.
My laptop glowed on the kitchen table, the cursor blinking at the end of a sentence I couldn’t bring myself to finish.
I let Sassy out for the final time and hoped to work for another two hours.
Half a dozen tabs were open—SEO notes, client briefs, deadlines that didn’t care that my real job had already eaten me alive this week. The copy I’d been ghostwriting was supposed to sound like passion, like purpose, but it all read like cardboard.
I rubbed my temples and stared at the blinking line until the words blurred into static. I wasn’t sure if I was tired or wrung out. Probably both.
Noah hadn’t gone to bed. I’d heard him pacing for the last ten minutes, slow, methodical turns that made the floorboards groan. Every pass through the living room made something inside me tighten. It wasn’t just the sound—it was what the sound meant. He was wound too tight to sit still.
I fought with what to do. Chewing my lip, I set my folder down and rested my chin on my knees. I could go to him, try to distract him. But he might want to be left alone. Sassy’s tail thumbed twice, her large brown eyes gazing up at me. “What girl? Should I go check on Noah?”