Chapter Eight

The next morning began like every other since Nate had arrived.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

The Elsher house had once been loud.

Simon had always insisted that a home should be noisy. Breakfast conversations had turned into debates. Dinner usually ended in laughter. Music had drifted through the rooms on Saturday mornings while he danced badly around the kitchen just to make Sarah laugh.

Now...

The silence felt permanent.

Like another member of the family.

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Sarah stood in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring a pot of oatmeal she wasn't sure anyone would eat.

She glanced toward the staircase.

"Has Max come down yet?"

Micah looked up from his coffee.

"No."

"He didn't touch dinner last night."

"He'll eat eventually."

She sighed.

"That's what I told myself yesterday."

"And the day before that."

Nate quietly entered the kitchen, dressed in gray sweatpants and one of Micah's old university hoodies.

He looked exhausted.

The dark circles beneath his eyes had become impossible to ignore.

"Morning," Sarah said warmly.

"Morning."

"I made breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

She gave him a look.

"Nathaniel."

He smiled apologetically.

"I'll have some toast."

"Good enough."

Micah watched the exchange with amusement.

Some things never changed.

No matter how old Nate got, Sarah still had the uncanny ability to make him obey with a single look.

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Max never came downstairs.

Sarah knocked once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Max?"

No answer.

"I left breakfast outside your door."

Still nothing.

She rested her forehead against the wood.

"I love you."

Silence.

She waited another few seconds before quietly walking away.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she noticed Nate pretending not to have watched the entire exchange.

Pretending.

He had always been a terrible liar.

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"I'm heading into town," Micah announced.

"I need to stop by the clinic."

His residency had brought him back to the town months earlier, and the local rehabilitation clinic had welcomed him as one of their resident physiotherapists. Even while visiting home, patients still occasionally needed him.

"I won't be long."

Sarah nodded.

"I'll be here."

Micah looked toward Nate.

"You staying out of trouble?"

"I make no promises."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

It was meant to be a joke.

No one laughed.

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The clinic visit took less than two hours.

When Micah returned, he found his mother sitting alone on the back porch.

She wasn't reading.

She wasn't drinking her tea.

She was simply staring into the garden Simon had planted years ago.

The roses needed trimming.

He would have noticed immediately.

Simon had loved that garden.

"Mind if I join you?"

Sarah smiled softly.

"I was hoping you would."

Micah sat beside her.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The breeze carried the scent of jasmine through the yard.

Finally Sarah broke the silence.

"I don't know how to help him anymore."

Micah didn't need to ask which one.

"Max?"

She nodded.

"He used to tell me everything."

Her voice was quiet.

"When he was little, he'd run home from school just to tell me about getting a gold star."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"He'd cry if he scraped his knee."

"He wouldn't go to sleep unless your father read him a story."

The smile disappeared.

"Now I don't even know what he's thinking."

Micah looked down at his hands.

"He's grieving."

"So am I."

"I know."

Tears filled Sarah's eyes.

"I miss Simon every single day."

She laughed softly through them.

"Sometimes I still wake up reaching for him."

Micah swallowed hard.

He understood.

Three years later...

There were still moments when he instinctively reached for his phone to call his father.

Then he remembered.

There would never be another answer.

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"I thought time was supposed to make it easier," Sarah whispered.

"It doesn't."

Micah's answer came almost immediately.

"It just teaches you how to carry it."

She looked at him.

"When did you get so wise?"

He smiled sadly.

"The day Dad died."

Silence settled between them again.

----------------------

After several moments Sarah spoke.

"I think Max blames himself."

Micah frowned.

"For what?"

"He keeps asking if he should've noticed sooner."

Micah's heart sank.

"He was thirteen."

"I know."

"He couldn't have stopped Dad from getting sick."

"I know."

"But guilt doesn't listen to reason."

Micah leaned back in his chair.

"No."

It never did.

He'd seen that often enough.

Patients blamed themselves for accidents.

Families blamed themselves for illnesses.

And Nate...

Nate still secretly blamed himself for surviving when his parents hadn't.

Grief had a cruel way of convincing people they could have changed the past.

----------------------

Sarah sighed.

"And then there's Nate."

Micah closed his eyes.

"Yeah."

"I hardly recognize him."

"He doesn't recognize himself either."

She looked toward the upstairs hallway.

"I see two boys in this house pretending they're fine."

Micah followed her gaze.

One door remained closed.

Max's.

Down the hall, the guest room door was shut as well.

Nate had spent most of the morning sleeping after sneaking out the night before.

Neither of them knew the other had barely slept.

Neither of them knew they both carried grief like a second skin.

Sarah's voice broke the silence.

"They're both so young."

Micah nodded.

"Too young."

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"I keep thinking..." Sarah said slowly.

"What if we're losing them?"

Micah turned sharply.

"We're not."

"You sound very sure."

"I'm trying to."

She smiled sadly.

"Thank you for being honest."

He let out a tired breath.

"The truth?"

She nodded.

"I'm terrified."

The admission surprised even him.

"I'm scared Nate's going to drink himself into destroying everything he's worked for."

He paused.

"And I'm scared Max's anger is turning into something darker."

He rubbed a hand across his face.

"And I don't know how to save either of them."

Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand.

"You don't have to save them."

"It feels like I do."

"You can't carry everyone."

He looked away.

"But I can try."

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That afternoon, Micah found himself standing in the upstairs hallway.

Max's bedroom door stood closed.

So did Nate's.

He looked at one.

Then the other.

Behind one door was a sixteen-year-old boy mourning the father who would never watch him become a man.

Behind the other was a twenty-four-year-old medical student mourning the future he thought he'd already built.

Different stories.

Different losses.

The same unbearable loneliness.

Micah rested his forehead against the wall between the two bedrooms and closed his eyes.

"How am I supposed to help either of you..."

No answer came.

Only silence.

And behind two separate doors, two broken hearts continued to suffer alone, each believing no one could possibly understand what they were carrying.