Chapter 19

Kayna’s POV

I hadn’t realized how fragile my mother had become until I helped her shift on the couch. Even that small movement left her breathless. She tried to brush it off, patting my hand like she always did when I was little, but the trembling in her fingers betrayed her.

Mateo gave me a look from across the room—one of those unspoken exchanges siblings learn after years of covering for each other. It said later. We’ll talk later.

So I sat with her, making small conversation about the flight, about how Boston hadn’t changed, about the neighbors she claimed still gossiped too loudly in the stairwell. All the while, I kept her hand in mine, afraid that if I let go, she’d slip away from me.

By evening, she’d dozed off, the soft rhythm of her breathing filling the silence. I tucked the blanket tighter around her and stepped quietly into the kitchen where Mateo was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

The kitchen was just as I remembered it—peeling linoleum, chipped mugs, the faint smell of fried onions that never seemed to leave no matter how often Mom scrubbed the stove.

It was the kind of place that carried echoes of every argument, every laugh, every whispered plan of escape we’d shared as kids.

I leaned against the counter opposite him. “Tell me everything.”

Mateo rubbed a hand over his face. He looked older than his twenty-two years, the lines of responsibility etched deeper than they should have been. “The doctors say it’s her heart. They want to run more tests, but you know how Mom is. She doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

“Does she even have insurance?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

He shook his head. “Some basic coverage through her part-time job, but it won’t be enough if she needs surgery.”

The weight in my chest pressed harder. That was what Damian’s check had been for—enough to buy us time, to at least get her into the right hospital. But beyond that…

I pressed my palms against the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mateo’s jaw tightened. “Because you already carry enough. You’ve been sending money every month, Kay. I didn’t want to add this on top of everything.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” I snapped, more harshly than I intended. His eyes flickered, hurt and tired. I exhaled, lowering my voice. “I needed to know. She’s our mom.”

Silence stretched between us. The hum of the refrigerator filled it, too loud in the tiny space.

Finally, Mateo said, “You always were the one she leaned on. Even when we were kids.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He pushed off the counter and paced the length of the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets. “Don’t you remember? When Dad got arrested, she fell apart. She barely left her room for weeks. I was ten, Kay. I couldn’t handle it. You were the one who cooked, who made sure I got to school. You were fourteen and playing mom while ours disappeared into herself.”

His words slammed into me like cold water. Memories flickered—the smell of overcooked pasta, the hollow ache in my stomach when I pretended I wasn’t hungry so Mateo could eat, the nights I stayed awake listening for Mom’s sobs through the thin walls.

“I just… did what I had to,” I said softly.

“Exactly,” he replied. “And you never stopped. You’ve always carried us. Even now.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I hadn’t done enough, that maybe if I’d been better, stronger, Mom wouldn’t be sitting in the other room with a failing heart. But the words tangled in my chest, too heavy to speak.

Instead, I whispered, “I hated him, you know. Dad.”

Mateo’s gaze snapped to mine.

“He left us with nothing but shame,” I continued, my voice low. “Every time I walk into a room, I wonder if people know. If they look at me and see his crimes instead of me. That’s why I couldn’t go see him in prison. That’s why I still can’t.”

Mateo’s eyes softened, though pain lingered there too. “I don’t blame you. But part of me still… I don’t know. Wants to see him. Wants answers.”

“What answers could he possibly give?” I asked bitterly. “He chose that life. He chose to leave us behind.”

Mateo didn’t argue. He just sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. But sometimes it feels like we’re still living in the shadow of his choices. And now with Mom…” His voice cracked. He turned away, gripping the counter until his knuckles whitened.

I stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “We’ll get her through this. We always do.”

For a moment, we just stood there in the dim kitchen, two siblings bound by the same scars, the same memories. And for the first time in a long time, I felt both the weight and the strength of the bond we’d forged in survival.

.......

That night, I lay awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Mateo’s words echoed in my mind. You always carried us.

But who carried me?

I thought of Damian—the tickets, the check, the near-kiss. The way he had seen through my defenses in a single night. He wasn’t supposed to be part of this story. He wasn’t supposed to matter beyond the walls of the office.

And yet, in the quiet dark of my mother’s apartment, it was his face I saw when I closed my eyes.