Chapter 4

By the time I got home that evening, the sky had turned a deep purple, and the streetlights had come on along the street. 

The first thing I heard when I pushed open the heavy front door was the bright, pealing sound of Ella's laughter drifting from the kitchen.

"You're late," she called out, her voice full of the warmth of home.

I closed the door behind me, the click of the latch a final punctuation on the day. I closed the door behind me and slipped off my shoes, my feet aching after a long day. 

"I know, work was hectic." 

Ella came out of the kitchen, still holding a wooden spoon flecked with sauce. She took one look at me, her smile faltering as her gaze swept over my face, taking in the exhaustion I couldn't quite hide. 

"You look exhausted."

"I am exhausted." 

She studied my face for a moment longer, her brow furrowing with concern. It reminded me of the same look I'd seen in Maya's eyes earlier, and before Ella could ask anything else, Mum called from the kitchen. 

"Ella, leave your sister alone and come help me with the food." 

Ella looked at me, a silent apology in her eyes, then back toward the kitchen. 

"Come on," she said and I offered her a weak smile and followed her inside.

The smell of roasted chicken and savory, herb-flecked potatoes filled the house, and some of the tension I'd carried home with me began to ease.

Mum was standing at the stove, her movements economical and sure, while Grandma sat at the dining table, sorting green beans into a ceramic bowl. 

"You're home," Mum said, glancing over her shoulder, her tone a mixture of welcome and mild chastisement. "Yes, Mum." 

"Go and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready."

I did as she asked, then joined everyone at the table. Noah was already there, his phone resting face-down beside his plate, a silent sentinel. He looked up when I sat down, a familiar, teasing glint in his eyes. "You're late." 

I gave him a tired look."Apparently that's today's complaint." The words came out sharper than I intended, a frayed edge from the day's tensions.

 He didn't flinch, just offered a small, knowing smile. "I'm just saying." 

"You're supposed to be on my side," I retorted, a genuine smile finally breaking through my exhaustion. 

"I am," he said, his expression earnest. 

Ella plopped down beside him, rattling the cutlery. "He has no idea what side he's on." Noah laughed, a warm, familiar sound, and I felt the last of the day's tightness in my chest loosen just a fraction.

Grandma pushed a plate piled high with roasted potatoes toward me, her movements decisive. "Eat before you start rambling about not being hungry."

 "I am actually hungry," I said, reaching for my fork. 

"Good." 

For a while, the conversation flowed around me, a gentle river of ordinary things. Ella complained about a colleague at her design firm who had brazenly taken credit for one of her ideas, her indignation a welcome distraction. 

Halfway through dinner, Noah started coughing. A small, dry hack at first, then a deeper, more persistent rattle that seemed to steal the air from the room. 

I immediately looked at him, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth. He reached for his water and took a few slow sips, his knuckles white around the glass. 

"You okay?" 

"I'm fine," he said once the coughing eased, waving a dismissive hand. But I saw the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight tremor in his fingers as he set the glass down. I watched him for another second before forcing a nod. 

Mum glanced at me but said nothing. She didn't need to. We all worried about Noah; we just didn't always say it out loud. 

Noah's medication was kept in the kitchen cabinet, along with the small notebook where Mum recorded his doses and appointments. There were hospital visits, tests, prescriptions, and treatments that had become part of our routine over the years. Nobody complained about them during dinner, we simply dealt with whatever came next.

After we finished eating, I helped Mum clear the table while Ella and Noah went into the living room. I carried the last plate to the sink and went upstairs.

Once I changed into my pajamas, I sat on my bed and picked up my phone. There were two messages from work. 

The first was about tomorrow's schedule  and the second was from Carter, I stared at his name before opening it. 

See me first thing tomorrow morning. 

That was all, no explanation. I locked my phone and placed it face down on the bed.

I didn't want to deal with him tonight, instead, I opened the notes on my phone and went through the research I'd been collecting. 

Medical papers, clinical studies, treatment possibilities, anything that might eventually help Noah. 

I'd spent countless hours searching for anything that might lead somewhere, even when most of what I found ended in another dead end. I wasn't going to stop, not while there was still something left to learn or another possibility I hadn't considered. 

I picked up my pen and started making notes beside one of the studies. For the next hour, I stayed there, reading and writing until the rest of the day slowly faded into the background.