Page 24 of The Silence Between

21

DARKEST HOUR

LEO

I stood at the kitchen counter slicing apples for Sophie's lunch, the morning sunlight painting hopeful rectangles across our worn linoleum floor. For once, the apartment hummed with ordinary chaos rather than crisis: Mari at the table reviewing her financial aid paperwork, Diego grumbling over burnt toast while cramming for a math quiz, Sophie braiding her own hair with fierce concentration, tongue caught between her teeth.

“Don't forget your permission slip,” I reminded her, sliding apple slices into a ziplock bag. “Art museum trip tomorrow.”

“Already in my folder,” she replied without looking up from her intricate braiding pattern. “And you already signed it.”

I smiled despite my exhaustion. Things were... stable. Not perfect, not easy, but finally finding balance. The custody review had been suspended following our legal intervention. My community college classes started next week. The bookstore job provided both meaning and regular hours. And Ethan... well, that was evolving into something I still hadn't fully defined but that filled the hollow spaces I'd forgotten existed inside me.

“Mari, can you pick up Sophie today?” I asked, already calculating afternoon logistics in my head.

“Sure, I can pick up Sophie and drop her at dance before my shift at the library,” she replied, highlighting something on her financial aid form.

“I've got debate club,” Diego added, mouth full of toast. “Done at four.”

I nodded, mentally adjusting our carefully choreographed schedule. “I'll pick you up after, then we'll grab Sophie together. I should be off work by?—“

The knock at our door wasn't so much a knock as a pounding, the hollow wood rattling in its frame. Something cold slithered down my spine as all four of us froze, eyes meeting in silent understanding built from years of shared experience.

“Stay here,” I said quietly, setting down the knife and moving toward the door.

Through the peephole, I saw my father's distorted face, eyes bloodshot, mouth twisted in what might have been a smile or a grimace. My heart crawled into my throat as I turned back to my siblings, signaling with a subtle head tilt toward the bedroom. Mari immediately went into protective mode, guiding Sophie toward the far side of the apartment while Diego moved to stand just behind me, tall enough now to be backup rather than just another child to protect.

I opened the door just enough to block entrance, keeping my voice steady. “Dad. It's seven thirty in the morning. What are you doing here?”

“Came to see my kids,” he slurred, swaying slightly. The reek of alcohol rolled off him in waves, though his eyes held the manic gleam that suggested something stronger than just booze in his system. “Got court papers. Today's the day, Leo. Told you I'd get my rights back.”

He thrust a wrinkled document at my chest. I took it mechanically, not letting my eyes leave his face as I unfolded it with one hand. The header was official enough: Emergency Hearing Notice, stamped with the county clerk's seal, dated yesterday. My eyes scanned the text quickly, stomach dropping with each word.

“This is scheduled for two o'clock today,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. “Which doesn't explain why you're at our apartment, intoxicated, at seven thirty in the morning.”

“Wanted to see my babies before the judge gives them back to me.” He tried to peer around me into the apartment. “Where are they? Diego! Sophie! Mari! Your daddy's here!”

I stepped fully into the doorway, blocking his view and any potential entry. “They're getting ready for school. You need to leave, Dad. You're in no condition to be around them right now.”

“Don't tell me when I can see my own fucking kids,” he snarled, mood shifting with the volatile unpredictability of someone on more than just alcohol. “You've poisoned them against me. Turned them into strangers. But that ends today.”

He tried to push past me into the apartment. I braced against the doorframe, using my body as a physical barrier. Despite his deterioration, he was still a construction worker with the wiry strength addiction couldn't completely erase.

“You need to leave,” I repeated, voice hardening. “Now.”

“Or what? You gonna call the cops on your own father? Again?” He leaned in closer, his breath sour in my face. “Two o'clock, Leo. Judge Alvarez's courtroom. I know you work days. I know you can't get childcare that fast. I know you'll have to miss work again. How many absences before they fire you from that fancy bookstore job, huh?”

The deliberate calculation behind the timing suddenly clicked. This wasn't random. The hearing scheduled during school hours, the lack of advance notice, the specific details tailored to create maximum disruption to our finally stabilizing lives.

“Townsend put you up to this,” I said, the realization like ice water in my veins.

Dad's twisted smile confirmed it without words. “See you in court, son. Wear something nice for once. First impressions matter.”

He turned and staggered down the hallway, leaving the court document crushed in my fist and terror blooming in my chest. I closed the door, pressing my forehead against it for just a moment before turning to face my siblings.

“Was that Dad?” Sophie asked, her small voice carrying across the suddenly silent apartment.

“Yeah.” I forced my face into a neutral expression, shoving the document into my back pocket. “Nothing to worry about. Just some paperwork confusion we need to sort out.”

“Bullshit,” Diego muttered, the curse holding more fear than defiance. “He smelled like the bad days. And there's a hearing, isn't there? Can he take us away?”

Mari moved to my side, her eyes finding the edge of paper sticking out of my pocket. “What's happening, Leo?”

I looked at their faces, these children who weren't really children anymore.

“Court hearing this afternoon,” I admitted, seeing no point in lying when they'd obviously overheard. “Just a stalling tactic. Damien warned us they might try something like this.”

“But we have school,” Sophie said, confusion etched in her features.

“And you're still going,” I assured her. “All of you. I'll handle this.”

“How?” Mari asked, the practical question cutting through my false confidence.

How indeed. I needed to call Damien immediately, arrange emergency childcare, notify the bookstore I'd miss my shift, somehow get to the courthouse without a car since Mari would have it for college classes, prepare some kind of defense against whatever this emergency hearing entailed, and manage all this without completely falling apart in front of the kids.

“One step at a time,” I said, the mantra that had carried us through a decade of impossible situations. “I'll make the calls I need to make. We've handled worse.”

Had we, though? As I ushered them through their morning routines, my mind raced with the calculated cruelty of the attack. Dad showing up drunk was nothing new, but the court document represented a level of strategic manipulation that suggested Townsend's direct involvement. The date, time, location, lack of notice—all perfectly designed to hit us at our most vulnerable.

After they left, I stood in the kitchen, stillness settling over the apartment like a physical weight. My hands began to shake, the adrenaline that had kept me functional in front of the kids now demanding its due. I dialled Damien’s office with trembling fingers, praying he'd be in early.

“Leo?” His voice carried immediate concern when he heard mine. “What's happened?”

“Emergency hearing. Today. Two o'clock.” My words came out choppy, breathing suddenly difficult to control. “Judge Alvarez's courtroom. Miguel showed up with papers this morning. Drunk. Maybe worse.”

“I'm looking up the filing now,” Damien replied, keyboard clicking in the background. “This wasn't on the docket yesterday. There's no way you received proper notice.”

“Tell that to the county clerk's stamp on the document in my hand,” I said, pulling it from my pocket and smoothing the crumpled paper on the counter. “Looks official enough to me.”

“I'll be there in thirty minutes. Don't go anywhere. And Leo? Breathe. This has Townsend written all over it, which means he's desperate. We can fight this.”

I hung up and immediately called Eleanor at the bookstore, explaining the situation in clipped sentences. Her immediate understanding and support should have been comforting, but only increased my anxiety. Another person making allowances, another job at risk because of my family situation, another crack in the foundation I'd been trying so hard to stabilize.

Next, I called Mrs. Hernandez next door, who thankfully agreed to meet the kids after school if needed. Then the school, leaving messages for each of their teachers explaining potential early dismissal. Each call ticked another box in crisis management mode, my body moving through practiced motions while my mind screamed with the unfairness of it all.

When had I last slept more than four hours? When had I eaten something that wasn't leftover kid food or a rushed snack between shifts? The edges of my vision seemed to waver slightly, fatigue and stress creating a tunnel effect I recognized from previous breaking points.

I tried calling Ethan three times while waiting for Damien, each call going straight to voicemail. “Hey, it's me,” I said on the third attempt, voice cracking slightly. “There's an emergency hearing today. Miguel showed up with court papers. I... could use some backup, if you're around. It's at two, Judge Alvarez's courtroom. Just... call me when you get this, please.”

The vulnerability in my voice shocked even me. After years of handling crises alone, explicitly asking for help still felt like confessing weakness. But the thought of facing this particular battle without Ethan beside me created a hollow ache in my chest I couldn't ignore.

By the time Damien arrived, I'd compiled every document we might possibly need, organized into the color-coded folders he'd helped me prepare during our last legal session. My hands had mostly stopped shaking. My breathing had regulated. Outwardly, I appeared in control, the facade I'd perfected through years of practice.

Inside, I was crumbling.

* * *

The courthouse hallway bustled with midday activity, lawyers in suits hurrying between courtrooms, clerks carrying stacks of files, families waiting anxiously on hard wooden benches. I sat alone, Damien having gone to file our emergency motion for continuance based on improper notice.

My phone showed no missed calls from Ethan. I'd tried twice more, each attempt increasing the sick feeling in my stomach. Where was he? Had something happened, or was this just unfortunate timing? The rational part of my brain understood he could be in meetings, teaching classes, phone dead or silenced. The part shaped by a lifetime of abandonment whispered darker possibilities.

My phone vibrated with a text from Diego:

Diego

Ms. Wilson pulled me out of class. Said I seemed anxious. Can I come home?

Leo

Everything's fine. Try to focus on your classes. I'll update you after the hearing.

Another lie in the endless series of deceptions meant to protect them. How much of their lives had been shaped by these well-intentioned falsehoods? How much damage had I done trying to shelter them from painful truths?

The courthouse bathroom offered momentary privacy to splash cold water on my face. The mirror revealed a stranger wearing my features, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, skin ashen under the fluorescent lights, mouth set in a grim line I barely recognized. When had I aged so much? When had the boy who once dreamed of college and literature and a different life been replaced by this hollow-eyed man held together by sheer stubborn will?

Damien found me as I exited the bathroom, his expression tight with controlled anger. “We've got a problem. Judge Alvarez is presiding today, and he's known to be sympathetic to Townsend's family values platform. I've filed our continuance motion, but he could still proceed with the hearing given the 'emergency' nature of the filing.”

“What emergency?” I asked, bitterness seeping through. “Dad's been absent for years. The last 'emergency' was him showing up drunk at our apartment threatening to take the kids.”

“The filing claims he's completed rehabilitation and established stable housing. It argues that your current situation with multiple jobs, school starting, and Mari leaving for college creates instability that his 'recovery' could address.” Damien’s disgust was evident. “It's garbage, but it's professionally packaged garbage with Townsend's fingerprints all over it.”

My phone rang before I could respond. Riverton Memorial Hospital, a number I knew too well from years of crisis calls. My hand shook as I answered.

“Is this Leonel Reyes?” the clinical voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Reyes, I'm calling regarding Gloria Reyes. She was brought in approximately thirty minutes ago following a suspected overdose. Her condition is critical, and as her emergency contact, we need you to come in as soon as possible.”

The world tilted sideways, sound fading to a distant roar as my knees threatened to buckle. Damien grabbed my elbow, steadying me as I somehow managed to confirm I'd be there, mechanically ending the call and staring at the dark screen as if it might offer some explanation for this fresh hell.

“My mother,” I said, voice hollow even to my own ears. “Overdose. Critical condition.”

Damien’s face softened with genuine concern. “Go. I'll handle the continuance motion and text you updates. Family comes first.”

Family comes first. The mantra that had guided every decision for a decade. But which family? My dying mother who had chosen drugs over her children repeatedly? My siblings who might need to say goodbye but would be traumatized by seeing her in critical condition? My father who would undoubtedly use my absence from court as evidence of irresponsibility?

There was no right choice. No path forward that didn't involve devastating someone.

“I need to call the kids,” I said mechanically, though the thought of explaining this to them threatened to shatter what little composure I had left.

“Let me drive you to the hospital,” Damien offered. “You shouldn't be driving right now.”

I nodded, following him through the courthouse hallways like a sleepwalker, deaf to his reassurances about the hearing. Outside, late autumn sunlight seemed obscenely bright against my darkening thoughts. I tried Ethan once more as we reached Damien's car, the call again routing to voicemail.

“Ethan,” I said, voice cracking. “It's me again. My mom's in the hospital. Overdose. They say it's critical. I... I don't know what to do about telling the kids. I could really use...” I trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what I needed. Support? Advice? Simply not to be alone in this impossible moment? “Just call me. Please.”

The twenty-minute drive to Riverton Memorial passed in a blur, my mind cycling through terrible scenarios. Would Gloria die before I arrived? Should I pull the kids from school to say goodbye? Would seeing her like this create more trauma than closure? And underneath it all, the courthouse clock ticking toward a hearing that could tear apart everything I'd spent ten years building.

The emergency room entrance loomed before us, its automatic doors opening to the antiseptic smell I'd come to associate with the worst moments of our lives. I walked toward the reception desk on autopilot, Damien a steady presence beside me.

And then I saw them.

Miguel and Townsend stood near the nurse's station, deep in conversation. My father looked surprisingly sober compared to this morning, his clothes changed, hair combed. Townsend wore a suit, his expression grave but somehow satisfied, like a chess player seeing his strategy unfold exactly as planned.

I froze mid-step, understanding breaking over me like ice water. This wasn't coincidence. Somehow, they'd known about Gloria before I had. They'd positioned themselves here deliberately, creating a perfect storm where I would be forced to choose between my mother's deathbed and my siblings' custody hearing.

“Leo.” Townsend noticed me first, his voice carrying false sympathy. “Such a terrible situation. When Miguel called me about Gloria's condition, I felt it my duty to provide support during this family crisis.”

Miguel turned, and the performance of sobriety slipped just enough for me to see the glassy eyes behind it. Not drunk, but not clean either. Just functional enough to play the concerned ex-husband for hospital staff and legal purposes.

“Son,” he said, stepping toward me with open arms. “They won't tell me anything because of that restraining order you got. Your mother needs us now.”

I backed away, bumping into Damien who steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. “What's going on?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “How did you know she was here before I did?”

“Gloria called Miguel this morning,” Townsend supplied smoothly. “She was in distress, reaching out to her husband. He tried to help, but unfortunately arrived too late.”

The lie was so blatant it momentarily robbed me of speech. Gloria hadn't voluntarily contacted Miguel in years. The restraining order had been her idea, during one of her brief periods of clarity.

“I need to speak with her doctor,” I said, stepping around them toward the nurse's station.

“Mr. Reyes?” A woman in scrubs approached, clipboard in hand. “I'm Dr. Patel. I've been treating your mother. Could we speak privately?”

I followed her to a quiet alcove, vaguely aware of Damien running interference to keep Miguel and Townsend at a distance.

“Your mother's condition is critical but stable for now,” Dr. Patel said without preamble. “The overdose was severe, multiple substances involved. We've managed to stabilize her, but she remains unconscious. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.”

“Will she...” I couldn't finish the question.

“It's too soon to say,” she replied gently. “There's a significant risk of brain damage from oxygen deprivation before she was found. You should prepare your family for the possibility that even if she survives, she may not recover fully.”

The words hit like physical blows. Not just potential death, but the limbo of partial recovery. Another impossible situation with no good choices, only varying degrees of pain.

“Can I see her?” I asked, though I wasn't sure why. To say goodbye? To yell at her unconscious form for putting us through this again? To forgive her for something she couldn't help?

“Briefly. She's in ICU. Immediate family only.”

As I followed Dr. Patel down the corridor, my phone vibrated with a text from Damien:

Damien

Judge denied continuance. Hearing proceeding at 2pm. Miguel claiming you're abandoning custody obligations by being at hospital instead. Need you back ASAP.

The walls of the hospital seemed to close in around me, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, sounds amplified to painful levels. My vision tunneled, black edges creeping in as my breathing accelerated beyond control.

I stumbled into a nearby bathroom, locking the door behind me as my legs finally gave out. I slid down the wall to the cold tile floor, gasping for air that wouldn't fill my lungs, tears I'd been holding back for hours, days, years finally breaking through.

Too much. It was all too much.

My phone screen blurred through tears as I checked the time. 1:25 PM. Thirty-five minutes until a hearing that could take my siblings away. My mother unconscious in ICU. No way to be in both places. No right choice possible.

I'd spent ten years believing I could hold it all together through sheer force of will. That if I just worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, planned carefully enough, I could keep my family safe. The illusion of control shattered around me on that bathroom floor, leaving nothing but the raw truth I'd been running from: I couldn't do this alone anymore. Perhaps I never could.

When I finally managed to stand, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my haunted reflection, a strange calm had replaced the panic. Not peace, but the eerie stillness that comes when you've moved beyond fear into something deeper.

I walked out of the hospital without seeing my mother, without speaking to Miguel or Townsend, without explaining to anyone where I was going. Damien called twice, but I let it go to voicemail. Diego texted again, but I couldn't bring myself to respond.

My feet carried me automatically toward the old railroad bridge, the place that had always been sanctuary during my darkest moments. The walk took nearly forty minutes, the courthouse deadline passing unnoticed as I moved through Riverton like a ghost, unseeing and unseen.

I stood at the edge, wind tugging at my clothes as I stared down at the river that had divided my life into before and after, East and West, possible and impossible. My phone vibrated continuously in my pocket, ignored as I traced the semicolon tattooed on my wrist, the mark that had once promised continuation when stopping seemed easier.

The promise felt hollow now. What was I continuing toward? More impossible choices? More crises with no right answers? More pretending I could handle what no human being should have to face alone?

I stepped over the safety barrier onto the narrow concrete ledge, nothing between me and the drop but empty air. Not a decision yet, just a possibility. An option I'd considered three years ago and rejected for the sake of my siblings.

But what if they would be better without me? What if my desperate attempts to hold everything together were actually causing more harm than good? Miguel was a terrible father, but with Townsend's connections, maybe the kids would end up with a stable foster family instead. Maybe Mari could focus on college without worrying about us. Maybe Diego and Sophie could have the childhood I'd failed to provide.

The semicolon on my wrist seemed to mock me now. The author's choice to continue rather than end the sentence. But what if continuing the story was actually cruel? What if the kindest ending was a period, final and complete?

I closed my eyes, feeling the wind surge around me, hearing the water below. One step. One simple step and all the impossible choices would end. The constant struggle. The fear of failure. The burden of responsibility too heavy for anyone to carry alone.

One step, and it would be over.