Page 81 of The Silver Fox Brother

Kate gets up, comes back with more tissues.

"It's summer Friday tomorrow. I'm working from home. You're not going through this alone."

Amy nods. "Same. My calendar is clear. You need us, we're here."

"I'm sorry for keeping you up."

"Stop," Kate says. "You'd do the same."

We sit there, the three of us, while the night stretches on. I cry in waves—sometimes hard, sometimes just silent tears, sometimes stopping for a few minutes before starting again.

Amy makes tea no one drinks. Kate puts on soft music from her phone. They take turns holding my hand, stroking my hair, just being present.

Around 3 AM, the crying finally stops for good.

I'm empty. Wrung out. Exhausted.

"I need to figure out everything," I say, my voice hoarse.

"Where to live. My stuff at the apartment. Work tomorrow—"

"Not tonight," Kate interrupts gently.

"Tonight you rest. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow. Guest room is yours as long as you need it."

Amy adds. "Or you can stay with me. Whatever you want."

I nod, too tired to argue.

Kate stands. "Come on. You need to try to sleep."

She leads me to the guest room—small, cozy, safe. The bed is already made up with clean sheets.

"There's towels in the bathroom if you want to shower," Kate says.

"Or just sleep in what you're wearing. Whatever you need."

"Thank you." My voice breaks.

"For everything."

Kate hugs me. "Always."

She leaves, closes the door softly. I sit on the bed, still in my sleep shirt from hours ago. It feels like a lifetime since I put it on. I should shower. Should change. Should do something. Instead, I just lie down, pull the blanket over me, and close my eyes.

Sleep doesn't come. But I lie there anyway, in the dark, in Kate's guest room, two years of my life shattered in one phone call. And for the first time in hours, I'm not crying. I’m just... empty.

Chapter Seven

Winter

Ifinally drifted off sometime around four in the morning, my mind too exhausted to keep spinning through everything that had happened. The sleep wasn't good, and it wasn't long, but it was something.

When I wake, it's to sunlight streaming through the curtains, warm and insistent against my closed eyelids. I blink my eyes open slowly, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar ceiling, the angle of the light, the sounds filtering in from somewhere beyond the closed door.

Then I remember everything that transpired. I turn my head and look at the clock on the nightstand. 8:47 AM.

The guest bedroom is comfortable and welcoming, with pale walls and a large window that lets in the morning light. Kate has clearly put thought into making this space feel like a refuge, and I'm grateful for it even if it doesn't feel like mine and never will.