The house had a new rhythm now—one tuned to the tempo of quiet things said and unsaid. My presence in it felt different; everything I moved through seemed to hum with someone else’s attention. Sometimes it was a small thing, like the way Mom left a mug in the sink for him to notice that he was needed. Sometimes it was a heavier thing, like the way I found myself walking on the edges of rooms so that his line of sight might pass over me.
That afternoon he asked me to help him move a heavy shelving unit from the dining room into the study. Nothing dramatic; most people would have called it an errand. But when Mark asked me, the way he turned his head as if he expected me to answer, it felt like an invitation I both wanted and didn’t want to accept.
We tugged from opposite ends, the wood cr
