Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Something is off. I know it the second I walk through the door.
There’s no shouting, no frantic phone call, no neighbor calling to tell me something is wrong. It’s subtler than that, which somehow makes it worse.
The house smells too clean. Like someone has been scrubbing at the silence, trying to bleach the reality out of the floorboards.
The curtains are half-drawn despite the bright afternoon, and the radio is humming a low, vintage tune in the kitchen.
It’s one of those old stations my mother prefers because the hosts don’t talk too fast.
I find her at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug that’s clearly gone cold. She looks up, and the mask slides on instantly.
“Hi, baby,” she says. Her voice is bright. Too bright. “You’re early.”
I glance at the oven clock. I’m not. I’m exactly on time.
“Thought I’d check in,” I say, forcing my own smile into place as I lean down to kiss her cheek. I can feel the tension in her skin. “How are you feeling today?”
“Good,” she says. “Very good.”
Her eyes flick to the window, then dart back to mine. She tucks a loose silver strand behind her ear, and I notice the fine, rhythmic tremor in her fingers.
Good day, my ass.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I drop my bag on the counter.
“He’s out back doing a few things in the garden.”
I sit across from her and lace my fingers through hers. Her hands are ice.
“Did you eat?”
“Yes. Toast.”
I nod, letting it go. I won’t push. Not yet. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to litigate a piece of bread.
We sit there for a heartbeat, the radio humming a melody between us. She watches me like she’s trying to memorize my face, and the knot in my chest tightens until it’s a physical ache.
“How have you been?” she asks gently. “You look tired, Madison.”
I shrug, the weight of work and Beckett’s dark night and the relentless pace of my life pressing down on me. “Busy. You know how it is”
“You work too much.”
I smile. She smiles back, but the light doesn’t reach her eyes.
That’s another sign. The disconnect.
Dad comes in a few minutes later, smelling of cut grass and sweat from hiding in the yard. His face softens the second he sees me, but his shoulders don’t drop.
“Hey, kid,” he says, pulling me into a hug that lingers a second too long. “You okay?”
I nod into his shoulder. “Yeah. Just checking in.”
He looks at Mom, then back at me. There’s an entire conversation happening in the silence between breaths, a shorthand we’ve perfected over years of navigating the minefield of her mind.
“She’s having a good day,” he tells me, but his jaw is so tight I’m surprised it doesn't snap.
Mom straightens her spine. “I am.”
He squeezes her shoulder. “I know, love.”
We talk about nothing. The weather. Noah being away on a business trip.
Piper’s wedding plans, which Mom asks about twice in ten minutes.
Rowan’s latest excuse for limping, which she insists is just a pulled muscle from sleeping wrong.
I clock everything—the repetition, the distraction, the way Mom’s gaze drifts toward the window when the room grows too quiet, searching for a word or a memory she can’t quite name.
I check my phone under the table. Eight unread emails. Five missed calls. A calendar reminder for a meeting I’m currently failing to attend. The guilt hits hard. It’s the impossible pull between the people who need me and the life I’ve built to stay afloat.
I stand and smooth my hands over my trousers.
“I’ve got a busy couple of days,” I tell her. “I might not be able to check in like I usually do.”
Her smile wobbles. It’s a hairline fracture in the porcelain. “Oh. That’s alright. You’re a very busy woman.”
“I’ll still call,” I add. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nods. “Of course.”
I hate this part. I hate the feeling of abandonment that will inevitably follow me to the car. I hate that this has been my reality for so long that I can’t tell where responsibility ends and fear begins.
I step into the hallway and do the thing I should have done months ago. I stop trying to be the only anchor in a storm that’s getting bigger than me.
I text the group chat.
Me: I need help. Mom’s having a rough patch. I can’t be here for the next few days, and Noah is out of town. Can you both check in?
Piper: Of course. On it.
Rowan: I’ve got her tomorrow. Don’t even think twice.
I close my eyes, a wave of relief washing through me so strong it almost makes my knees buckle.
Back in the kitchen, Dad watches me.
“Your sisters?” he asks quietly.
I nod.
“Good,” he says, his voice thick. “Something is going on with her, Madi. I can’t do this alone anymore.”
“Neither can I, Dad.”
I hug Mom one last time before I leave, pressing my cheek to her hair and breathing her in.
“I love you,” I tell her.
She holds me tight, her strength surprising me. “I love you too, my strong girl.”