I stand with eyes closed, listening to the waves crash against the shore, letting the tears come freely. The salt air mingles with the taste of salt on my lips, and I don't bother wiping them away. Sometimes the most important lessons come in these quiet moments, like how grief is just love with no place to go, and this morning, it's more than I can hold in.

When I finally make it back to the lake house, my legs feel like I've run a half marathon at record pace. The moment I step into the living room, I'm greeted by a burst of color and sound. Balloons and streamers fill the space as Mom, Lydia, Jake, and Ollie all scream, "Happy birthday!"

This has Lydia written all over it—confirmed by her bright, excited energy that fills the room. Jake grins as he gives me a hug. I can feel the tension in his body that's still lingering from yesterday. It makes the hug feel awkward and we've never felt awkward around each other.

Ollie steps up next, ruffling my hair like he always does.

"Happy birthday, Len," he says with his trademark lopsided grin before pulling me into another bear hug and kissing the top of my head.

"Thanks, Ol," I say, playfully swatting him away, though the familiar gesture brings comfort I didn't know I needed.

Mom waits for her turn, a soft smile on her face though worry lingers in her eyes.

"Happy birthday, my love." Her hug threatens to cut off my airways, but after this morning, it's exactly what I need. "My God, I can't believe you're seventeen."

The celebrations continue, but I can't help noticing Nate's absence. I try to hide my disappointment, wondering if like me, he needed space to process everything. Or maybe he was second-guessing it all. The uncertainty sits heavy in my stomach, even as I smile and laugh with everyone else.

At breakfast, Mom notices something's off—she always does. We rarely get moments like this anymore, just the two of us. Usually, we only cross paths at Ollie's games or briefly in the mornings as we rush in opposite directions.

"You okay?" she asks, her hand resting over mine. There's so much love there, so much patience, and I feel this rush of gratitude that almost brings tears back to my eyes.

"Yeah," I whisper, but the word feels hollow.

I wish I could tell her everything. But every time I try, it's like standing on a cliff edge overlooking a dark abyss. The words burn inside, a searing mix of shame and guilt, each memory sharpened to painful clarity. My heart pounds furiously, echoing in my ears like thunder.

Mom has been healing from Dad's loss for over a year now. I tried to keep it together, not wanting to add another worry to her life, but all it's done is chip away at me, piece by piece.