Todos os capítulos de FALLING FOR MY BROTHER'S RIVAL: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

Sophia’s PovMy hands trembled slightly as I read Ruth’s message again, the quiet peace of the evening shifting into something softer, more fragile. “A letter from my mother,” I whispered. “The week before the accident.”Noah pulled me gently closer. “Do you want to call her tonight, or wait until morning?”“Tonight,” I said immediately. “I don’t think I could sleep without knowing what it says.”We called Ruth right away, and her voice carried the same gentle warmth it always did, though tonight it held a careful hesitation as well. “I found it folded inside an old recipe box,” she explained. “I think she must have given it to me for safekeeping, back when she still trusted very few people with anything important. I only just recognized her handwriting on the outside.”“Can you read it to me?” I asked softly.“I think this one belongs in your hands,” Ruth said gently. “I’ll mail it first thing tomorrow, so you can hold it yourself when you read it.”The following days passed slowly,

Sophia’s PovNoah read the message over my shoulder, his eyebrows lifting with genuine surprise. “A real gallery,” he said slowly. “For a ten-year-old.”“They must have seen the photos someone posted from the exhibition,” I said, scrolling through the details carefully. “They’re asking if she’d like to have a small show next spring, just a handful of pieces, nothing overwhelming.”We decided to wait until morning to tell her, wanting to be certain she had time to process something this significant without the excitement of the previous evening still clouding her judgment. The next day, over breakfast, we explained the offer carefully, watching her face shift from confusion into wide-eyed disbelief.“A real gallery wants my drawings?” she asked, nearly dropping her spoon.“They do,” Noah said, smiling warmly. “But only if you want to. This is completely your choice.”Grace sat quietly for a long moment, her expression thoughtful rather than immediately overwhelmed. “Would I get to pick

Sophia’s Pov“They want her to travel for the ceremony.”Noah studied the message carefully; a smile spread slowly across his face. “That’s incredible. Though international travel for a book award is a big step for a ten-year-old.”“We’ll go with her, obviously,” I said. “The whole family, if we can manage it.”We told Grace the following morning, watching her reaction shift from quiet disbelief into overwhelmed, joyful excitement. “A real award, for my book?” she asked, practically vibrating with happiness.“A nomination,” I reminded her gently. “Which is already an incredible honor, no matter what happens at the ceremony itself.”We spent the following weeks preparing carefully, coordinating schedules around Tyler’s training commitments, arranging for Mason and Grace to join us for part of the trip, Renata helping guide us through the unfamiliar world of literary award ceremonies.The night before our departure, our entire extended family gathered for a small send-off dinner, laught

Sophia’s PovGrace spent the following weeks sketching quiet, careful drafts for her new book, visiting Emma and Ethan’s house often to watch little Oliver grow, capturing small, tender moments between them on paper with the same thoughtful eye she brought to everything she created.“I want to show how love doesn’t care how a family gets built,” she explained one afternoon, showing me a sketch of Emma gently rocking Oliver to sleep. “Just that it’s real.”“That’s a beautiful message,” I said, studying the drawing with quiet pride. “I think a lot of families will see themselves in this story.”Tyler, home again for a short break between training camps, found himself drawn into the project as well, offering occasional suggestions as Grace worked through her early drafts at the kitchen table. Their easy, comfortable partnership reminded me often of how Noah and Mason had once learned to work together, two very different talents finding common purpose.“You should add something about Uncl

Sophia’s PovAutumn settled gently over our town, the trees along our street turning gold and red in the same slow, familiar rhythm that had marked so many seasons of our life together, and our household fell into the comfortable business of school mornings, hockey practices, and Grace’s steady work on her growing manuscript, each day carrying its own small, ordinary joy.One Saturday afternoon, while Noah took Tyler to a Balance Initiative meeting across town, I stayed home with Grace, helping her sort through a fresh stack of sketches scattered across the dining room table. She had grown quieter over the past week, her usual chatter replaced by something more careful, more guarded, and though I noticed it, I waited patiently rather than pushing, trusting she would share whatever was on her mind when she felt ready.“Mom,” she finally said, setting down her pencil, “can I tell you something without you getting upset?”I set aside the drawing I had been admiring and gave her my full a