“No, buddy. I don’t think so.”
He nodded, accepting it with a child’s resilience.
Then he smiled.
“Can we finish our puzzle?”
I smiled back.
“Yeah. Let’s finish it.”
That night, after Lucas went to bed, I sat on the couch and let everything sink in.
The noise, the years of walking on eggshells, the guilt, the constant struggle for approval, it was all gone.
For once, my house felt like a home instead of a refuge.
A few weeks later, Tyler came by.
He looked better than I’d seen him in years, calmer, more grounded.
He told me he’d moved out of our parents’ place completely and was renting a small apartment nearby.
“Melissa’s furious with me,” he said, grinning faintly. “Apparently, I’m a traitor. But it’s worth it.”
“How’s Dad?” I asked.
He sighed.
“Still pretending he’s the victim. But he’s quiet now. You know how loud silence gets when someone’s ego finally breaks.”
