Page 47 of Kisses and Paperclips

He shrugs.

“Zamir.”

He sighed. Glances up. Then looks away.

“Dad came by earlier.”

The words drop like a stone between us.

My stomach tightens and the air around us changes.

“What do you mean came by?” My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be.

“He knocked on the door.” His tone is careful now. “I didn’t answer. Pretended like nobody was home.”

I stare at him.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want you to stress,” he mumbled. “You had a long day, and you’ve been… I don’t know. You’ve just been doing everything. I figured I could handle it.”

My throat goes tight. I press my lips together and nod slowly.

Because this is what happens when you’ve been someone’s everything for so long.

They start protecting you too.

They watch the way you carry it all—shoulders squared, smile steady—even when the weight threatens to break you.

And somewhere along the way, they learn your tells.

The silence that stretches too long. The tightness in your voice when you’re trying to sound fine. The way your laughter doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

They start to recognize when you’re pretending.

And they try to carry some of it for you, even when they’re still learning how to carry themselves.

It’s messy and imperfect, but it’s love. The kind that notices when you’re unraveling even if you never say a word.

The kind that makes a little brother try to be the strong one, just this once.

Even if his voice wavers. Even if his hands shake.

Because you’ve been the sun, the anchor, the everything—and now, just for a moment, he wants to be yours.

“I appreciate you trying to look out, but it’s not your job to worry about me,” I said gently, setting down the serving spoon. “I’m the adult here. I’m responsible for myself.”

Zamir didn’t respond. Just kept his eyes on his plate, shoulders stiff. I could tell it was going in one ear and out the other.

The boy was stubborn, just like me. We were made of the same tough cloth, but damn if it wasn’t frustrating raising a kid who knew all your tells, and didn’t flinch when you pulled them out.

I reached across the table and lightly tapped my fingers against the wood. “Listen to me. I need you to stay away from Dad.”

That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Serena, he’s family. And he looked… better. Like maybe he’s trying.”

I held up a single finger. That was all it took to shut it down.

“I don’t care how he looks,” I said, my voice low and firm. “If he’s showing up again, it’s because he wants something. That’s who he is. He takes and takes until there’s nothing left.”

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