Page 75 of Absolution

Jemma frowns. “So, we won’t all live in the same house anymore?”

I shake my head. “Not all the time. But you’ll still see us both, all the time. That’s not changing.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Kyle says firmly. “We’ll still be your parents. Always.”

Iris speaks, lips trembling, “We’re not a family anymore.”

I reach for her hand. “We will always be a family,” I say honestly. “It’s just changing shape.”

Jemma blinks hard. “So… what happens now?”

“We’ll still be your parents,” Kyle says. “We’ll still both be around. We’ve worked out a schedule so you’ll have time with each of us. You won’t be losing anyone.”

“But you won’t live together anymore,” Iris says, voice small.

Kyle nods. “Right. I’ll be moving out on Sunday.”

“Why Jemma asks quickly. “Did we do something?”

“No, honey,” I say. “Not even a little bit. This isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

Levi’s jaw tightens. I can see it, how hard he’s trying to hold it in, the pressure building under his skin. His fists clench on his lap, knuckles going white.

“So that’s it?” he snaps suddenly. “You’re just giving up?”

“Levi,” Kyle says gently, “it’s more complicated than that-”

“No, it’s not!” he says, shooting up from the couch. “You said you love each other. You said we’re still a family. But families don’t quit! They don’t…” His voice cracks. “They don’t just leave.”

Jemma flinches. Iris starts crying, quiet, hiccupping sobs.

Levi’s breathing hard now. “You could try harder. You just don’t want to.”

He bolts up the stairs before anyone can stop him, his footsteps loud, each one landing like a punch. Jemma follows, pale and wide-eyed, wrapping an arm around Iris as they go.

The silence they leave behind is worse than the shouting.

I press my palm to my mouth, the weight of it all suddenly unbearable. I don’t mean to cry, but it comes anyway. Quiet and sharp. A sound I can’t quite swallow.

Kyle shifts closer, reaching for my hand. I let him take it.

“We’re doing the right thing,” he says softly, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “They’ll understand eventually.”

I nod, but I can’t speak. I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel sure. I feel like I’ve just broken the only thing I ever truly got right.

Kyle squeezes my hand once more, then lets go.

“We’ll get through this, Jackie,” he murmurs. “All of us. One way or another.”

I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, swallowing hard.

“How’s the apartment?” I ask, my voice thin.

He hesitates. “It’s… fine.”

That pause tells me everything. He’s trying not to make it harder.

Kyle found a place about ten minutes away. A four-bedroom on the second floor of a quiet building, close to the kids’ school and on a direct bus route. Practical. Safe. Close enough that pickups won’t be a nightmare and far enough that we’ll have the space we need.

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