CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

**GABRIEL**
The living room was unusually quiet. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock above the mantel and the occasional rustle of paper as Oliver turned a page of the book in his hands. He was sprawled on the couch, his legs stretched out, his focus entirely on the pages in front of him—or at least, that’s what he wanted me to believe.
I sat across from him, elbows resting on my knees, watching the way his fingers gripped the edges of the book just a little too tightly. His jaw was set, his expression neutral, but I knew him well enough to sense the simmering tension beneath the surface. He hadn’t looked at me once since I’d entered the room.
The silence stretched between us, thick and unyielding. I wanted to say something, to bridge the growing distance, but the weight of his walls bore down on me, suffocating. Every attempt to apologize, to explain myself, had been met with cold indifference.
I opened my mouth to try again, but the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor stopped me. I turned toward the hallway just as Carrie emerged, dragging a large box behind her. The sight of it made me freeze.
“Carrie,” I said, my voice tinged with confusion, “what are you doing?”
She paused, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her smile was small, sad, and too knowing. “I’m leaving, Gabriel.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Leaving?”
Oliver didn’t even glance up. He stayed rooted in his spot, flipping another page with deliberate disinterest, but his grip on the book tightened.
“Yes,” Carrie said, her voice steady but soft. “I think it’s time. I’ve overstayed my welcome here. You and Oliver don’t need me hanging around anymore.”
“That’s not true,” I said quickly, standing and crossing the room to her. “Carrie, you’re not a burden. You’re family.”
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know you mean that, Gabriel. And I love you for it. But this… this isn’t my place anymore. I’ve been clinging to the past for too long, and I think it’s time I moved on.”
My chest tightened as her words sank in. I couldn’t imagine her not being here. Carrie wasn’t just my cousin; she was my sister in every way that mattered. We’d grown up together, shared secrets, laughed and cried together. She’d been my anchor through the chaos of my past. Losing her…
“Carrie, please,” I said, my voice breaking slightly. “You don’t have to go. If this is about Oliver and me, we’ll figure it out. You’re not in the way.”
Her gaze softened as she shook her head. “It’s not about that. This isn’t a decision I’m making lightly, Gabriel. I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I know it’s the right one.”
She glanced at Oliver, who finally lowered his book. His face was unreadable, but a flicker of relief passed through his expression before he quickly masked it.
“Oliver,” Carrie said gently. “I know we’ve had our differences, and I know you probably won’t miss me much, but I want you to know I’m rooting for you. Both of you.”
Oliver pressed his lips into a thin line. For a moment, I thought he might respond, but instead, he simply nodded once and returned to his book.
Carrie sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as though she’d expected nothing more. She bent down to adjust the box, preparing to roll it to the door.
“Wait,” I said, stepping in front of her. “At least let me help you with that.”
She hesitated but nodded, letting me take the box from her hands. It was heavier than I’d expected, filled to the brim with the remnants of her life here.
“Where will you go?” I asked as we walked toward the door.
“Back home,” she said simply. “To the house Carlos and I shared. It’s been sitting empty for too long. It’s time I filled it again.”
The mention of Carlos sent a surge of anger through me. He hadn’t been a good man—far from it. I hated him for the way he’d treated Carrie, for the pain he’d caused her. Even now, the thought of him made my jaw tighten.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked carefully. “That house… it holds a lot of memories.”
“I know,” she said softly, her gaze distant. “But I think it’s time I face them instead of running away. I need to take back what’s mine.”
I stopped at the door, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Will you be okay on your own?”
She gave me a faint smile, one tinged with bittersweet determination. “I’ll be fine, Gabriel. I need this. I need to stand on my own two feet again.”
We stood there for a moment, the silence heavy with unsaid words.
“I’m just a call away,” she added, her tone lightening. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
I couldn’t help but smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’d better mean that.”
“I do.”
The door creaked open, and the cool evening air swept into the house, carrying with it a sense of finality. I carried the box to her car, setting it down in the trunk with care. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried more than just her belongings.
Carrie stood beside me, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She seemed lost in thought, her expression unreadable. The quiet between us stretched on, filled only by the faint hum of distant crickets and the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. 
“Thank you,” she said after a moment.
“For what?”
“For always being there. For never giving up on me, even when I wasn’t at my best.”
My throat tightened, and I had to look away to compose myself. “That’s what family does, Carrie. We take care of each other.”
She nodded, her smile bittersweet. “And now it’s time I take care of myself.”
We stood there in silence before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. Her embrace was warm and familiar, carrying the weight of so many shared moments. I hugged her back tightly, unwilling to let go, as if holding on could somehow stop the inevitable.
Her breath hitched slightly, and I felt her fingers clutch the back of my shirt. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I’ll miss you too,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes glassy but resolute. “You’ll be okay,” she said, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. There were so many things I wanted to say, but none of them felt like enough. Instead, I tightened my grip one last time before letting her go. “I love you, Carrie,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“I love you too, Gabriel,” she whispered.
When we finally pulled apart, Carrie climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine with a low hum. She rolled down the window, giving me one last smile.
“Take care of yourself, Gabriel,” she said softly.
I nodded, struggling to keep my voice steady. “And you. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. And thank you,” she added.
I watched as her car slowly pulled out of the driveway, the sound of the tires on gravel fading as she disappeared down the road. The emptiness of the moment lingered in the cool evening air, and I stood there for a while, staring at the empty space where her car had been. 
“Take care of him,” she said, her eyes flicking toward the house.
“I will,” I promised.
With that, she pulled out of the driveway, her car disappearing down the road until the taillights were no longer visible. I stayed rooted in place, my hands resting on my hips as I stared into the growing darkness. The cool evening breeze carried the faint scent of wet leaves and distant woodsmoke, but all I could feel was the heavy weight of loss pressing against my chest.
The hum of her car’s engine faded completely, leaving behind a silence that was far too loud. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of her departure settling heavily on my shoulders, rooting me in place like an ancient oak refusing to bend to the storm. My thoughts churned, filled with memories of her laughter, her stubbornness, her unwavering support through the years. And now, just like that, she was gone.
Finally, I drew a deep breath, trying to shake the ache in my chest. It didn’t work. My feet felt heavy as I turned back toward the house, my steps slow and deliberate, as though each one would somehow undo what had just happened. But the door loomed in front of me, a reminder that I couldn’t hold on to her any longer.
When I finally turned back to the house, Oliver was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
“She’ll be fine,” he said simply, his tone devoid of emotion.
I nodded, though the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. “I hope so.”
He lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he added, “She’s stronger than you think. Stronger than either of us.”
The words caught me off guard, but I nodded again. “She always has been.”
Oliver looked down, his fingers toying with the edge of his sleeve. “You really cared about her, didn’t you?”
“She’s family,” I said simply. “Of course I care.”
Oliver’s gaze softened, and for the first time in days, his defenses seemed to waver. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
The words caught me off guard, each syllable hitting with a weight I hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how to respond, my mind racing to catch up with what had just been said. It felt like standing on the edge of something fragile, uncertain whether the ground beneath me would hold. But then I nodded, the motion slow and deliberate, as if trying to reassure not just him but myself.
I offered him a small, tentative smile—soft, cautious, and not entirely sure it would be returned. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it carried everything I couldn’t put into words: an acknowledgment of his openness, a flicker of hope, and the quiet promise that I was willing to try, no matter how uncertain the path ahead seemed. 
“Thanks.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.