My father left early, like he often did when work pulled him away for a few days at a time.
The suitcase stood by the door, half-zipped. He moved through the house quietly, checking things without announcing that he was checking them.
"Girls," he called lightly as he adjusted the strap of his bag.
Aisling answered from the couch. "What?"
"Help out at home, okay? I won't be gone long."
"We always do," she said.
He looked at me then, not serious, just steady. "You hear me?"
"I hear you."
"Good."
He hugged Jace first, then Liam. A quick clap on the shoulder for each of them.
Then he came to us.
Aisling rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway. He squeezed her tight.
When it was my turn, he held me a second longer. Not heavy. Just enough to register.
Then he turned to my mother.
She had been standing near the doorway the whole time, arms folded loosely.
He stepped close, said something too low for us to hear, and kissed her.
Not dramatic. Just familiar.
"Ew," Aisling muttered.
"Disgusting," Jace added.
My mother smiled despite herself.
"Go," she said. "You'll miss your flight."
He picked up his keys and left.
The door closed.
The house shifted.
My mother did not speak immediately. She waited until the quiet settled into its usual places. Until the television hummed low. Until Jace disappeared into his room. Until the silence felt owned.
"You've been distracted," she said finally.
I stayed still.
"That's how things start slipping," she continued. "You know how fast it happens."
She did not need to explain. I already knew.
"One paper," she said. "Fourteen years old and you still couldn't get it right."
My chest tightened.
That had been enough.
The year my birthday disappeared.
I remembered the cake box staying in the car. The phone calls she made, cancelling plans. The way the day passed like it did not belong to me anymore.
She called Liam's name.
He answered immediately.
⸻
Later that evening, the headache returned.
Not sharp. Just heavy. A pressure behind my eyes that made the room feel smaller.
"Cala," my mother called from the hallway. "Bring the laundry in before it gets damp."
"Okay," I answered.
I stood.
Then sat back down.
Just a minute.
I unlocked my phone.
Theo's name sat at the top of my screen.
Sorry I went quiet. Things got hectic.
My chest loosened before I could stop it.
I typed.
You're fine. I just thought—
The door opened.
My mother stood there.
"I thought I asked you to do something."
"I was just about to," I said quickly. "I have a headache. I just wanted to text Dad first."
She looked at the phone. Then at me.
"And this is how things start slipping," she said.
"I'm going now."
"Liam."
He appeared almost immediately.
"Take it."
"I'm bringing the laundry in," I said. "I'll give it back."
"You don't need it."
Liam held out his hand.
The hesitation this time felt different.
Not long enough to argue.
Long enough to feel it.
Then I placed the phone in his palm.
The screen went dark.
"Finish what you were asked to do," my mother said.
⸻
When I came back inside, the house had already settled again.
A little while later, my door creaked open.
Jace slipped inside, holding his game console under one arm.
"I heard Mum," he said quietly. "Do you want to play?"
I nodded.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and handed me a controller. We played badly on purpose, crashing characters into walls, laughing when the screen froze. For a few minutes, my head hurt less. Or maybe I just forgot it did.
"You're still winning," he said, grinning.
"Barely."
He leaned back against my bed, comfortable, unafraid. He did not ask questions. He did not tell me to be okay.
The door opened.
"Jace," my mother said. "It's late."
He looked at me, unsure.
"Go," she added.
He stood slowly. "Night."
When he left, the room felt smaller again.
⸻
My father called later that night.
I knew because the house went still.
The ringing carried down the hallway, sharp and persistent. No one moved at first.
Liam stood.
He took the phone from the counter and walked out of sight.
The ringing stopped.
I waited.
When he came back, he did not say anything. He placed the phone where I could not reach it and sat down.
No one mentioned it.
A while later, my door opened again.
"Phone," Liam said.
I followed him to the living room. Everyone was there.
"Dad called," he said, handing it to me.
"You okay?" my father asked, his voice warm with concern.
Everyone was watching.
"Yes," I said.
It came easily. It always did.
He exhaled. "Alright. Get some rest."
When the call ended, Liam took the phone back without being asked and placed it on the counter.
"Bed," my mother said. "Everyone."
The lights went off one by one.
Except Liam's.
I lay awake listening to the house breathe, thinking about how comfort could exist in flashes.
And how silence did not always mean peace.
Sometimes it just meant everything was working the way it was supposed to.