Chapter 292 Chapter 292
Chapter 292 Chapter 292
Jackson
I didn’t notice it all at once.
It wasn’t some big, dramatic moment where everything suddenly clicked.
It was smaller than that.
Quieter.
The kind of thing you almost miss if you’re not paying attention.
Jessa wasn’t hovering anymore.
Not around me.
Not around Noah.
Not around anyone.
And that should’ve felt normal.
It was normal.
Except… it wasn’t how things used to be.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching her from across the room.
She was at the table, laptop open, papers spread out around her—not in that frantic, overwhelmed way from a few weeks ago. This was different.
Organized.
Focused.
Like she actually knew what she was doing.
She’d tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, type something, pause, read, then nod to herself like she was confirming it made sense.
No sighing.
No frustration.
No “I don’t get this” under her breath.
Just… steady.
It was weird.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, not taking my eyes off her.
Because I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Not recently.
Not because of one conversation.
But over time.
And somehow, I hadn’t fully seen it happening.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
I blinked.
“I’m not staring.”
She finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
“You are.”
I took a sip of water.
“I’m observing.”
She snorted softly.
“Okay, weirdo.”
I smirked a little, but it didn’t last long.
“Since when do you have your life together?”
She leaned back in her chair slightly.
“I don’t.”
“Looks like it.”
She gestured to the laptop.
“This is me trying to have it together.”
“Still counts.”
She studied me for a second.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Jackson.”
I sighed, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
“I’m just… noticing stuff.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s just—”
I stopped.
Because I didn’t even know how to explain it.
How do you tell your twin sister she’s not the same person anymore?
Without it sounding like she used to be… less?
She waited.
And when I didn’t fill the silence, she tilted her head slightly.
“Spit it out.”
I exhaled slowly.
“You’re different.”
There it was.
Simple.
Blunt.
Very me.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t get defensive.
Didn’t even look surprised.
“Yeah,” she said.
Like she already knew.
That threw me off more than anything.
“You’re just gonna agree with that?” I asked.
She shrugged lightly.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“No kidding.”
She smiled a little.
“Yeah.”
I watched her for another second.
Then shook my head.
“You don’t… need me the same way anymore.”
It came out before I could stop it.
And yeah—
There was something under that.
Something I didn’t love admitting.
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she closed her laptop slowly, giving me her full attention.
“That’s not true,” she said.
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” I repeated. “You’re figuring stuff out on your own. You’re not asking me for help. You’re not—”
“Jackson.”
Her voice wasn’t sharp.
But it stopped me anyway.
She stood up, walking over until she was right in front of me.
“I still need you,” she said.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s true.”
I looked at her.
Really looked.
And yeah—
She wasn’t the same girl who used to look at me like I had all the answers.
But she also wasn’t someone who didn’t care.
It was something in between.
Something… new.
“You used to jump in front of everything for me,” she said. “Every comment. Every problem. Every situation.”
“That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“No,” she said gently. “That’s what you chose to do.”
I frowned slightly.
“Same difference.”
“It’s not.”
She paused.
Then—
“I needed that version of you back then.”
That landed.
Because yeah.
I knew that.
I’d seen it.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“But I don’t need that in the same way anymore,” she continued.
And there it was.
The part I didn’t like.
My jaw tightened slightly.
“Right.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”
I hesitated.
Because those weren’t the same thing.
And I knew it.
She must’ve seen it click, because she softened a little.
“You’re still my person,” she said. “You’re still the one I go to. You’re still the one who knows me better than anyone else.”
I let out a breath.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Then she added, a small smile tugging at her lips—
“You’re just not the one fighting all my battles anymore.”
I huffed a quiet laugh.
“About time.”
She smiled wider.
“Exactly.”
We stood there for a second.
Then I shook my head slightly.
“You’ve changed.”
She nodded.
“So have you.”
“Not as much.”
She gave me a look.
“Debatable.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t push it.”
She laughed softly.
And then it hit me.
Not all at once.
But clear enough.
I wasn’t losing anything.
I wasn’t losing her.
I wasn’t losing my place in her life.
I was just…
Not needed in the same way.
And yeah—
That was weird.
But it wasn’t bad.
It meant she was okay.
More than okay.
She was figuring herself out.
Without needing someone else to hold her up every second.
And honestly?
That was something I should’ve been proud of from the start.
I leaned back against the counter again, crossing my arms.
“You’re gonna do fine, you know that right?”
She looked at me, surprised.
“With school. With all of it.”
Her expression softened.
“Thanks.”
I nodded once.
“And for the record…”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
I smirked slightly.
“If anyone at that new school gives you a problem, I will still show up and ruin their life.”
She laughed.
“I’m sure you will.”
“Just saying.”
She shook her head, smiling.
“Some things don’t change.”
“Good,” I said.
Because yeah.
They shouldn’t.
She picked her laptop back up, heading toward the stairs.
“Hey,” I called after her.
She turned at the bottom step.
“Yeah?”
I held her gaze for a second.
Then said it.
Simple.
Honest.
“I’m proud of you.”
She froze.
Just for a second.
And I could tell that meant something.
Because we don’t say stuff like that all the time.
Not out loud.
Not like this.
Her smile came back, softer now.
“Thanks, Jackson.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She disappeared up the stairs.
And I stayed there for a minute.
Just standing in the kitchen.
Thinking.
Because for the first time in a long time—
I wasn’t worried about her.
Not about whether she’d be okay.
Not about whether she could handle what came next.
I already knew she could.
And maybe…
That was the biggest change of all.