Welcome back to Holding On.
Last time, Emma’s fear found its voice in David’s car, and Ralph steadied his son with the reminder that trying can still be enough.
Now the weight shifts again.
Rachel behind the wheel, anger blurring into exhaustion.
Emma at the doorway, carrying more than her mother knows.
It’s a chapter about cracks in the armor—
and the weight of words never meant to be heard.
Still holding on.
Chapter Fifteen
Rachel’s fingers pressed into the steering wheel. One job. He had one job.
Her father’s voice cut through: David will be here soon, won’t he? She’d smiled, nodded, lied—He’s on his way, Dad. But he hadn’t been. And she had borne that silence herself.
Streetlights smeared orange across the windshield. Tonight felt like too much.
She laughed once, bitter. A flash: David at the pool’s edge, frozen. Dad urging, Give him a hand, Rach. She had reached out then. She was done reaching now.
The house appeared, porch light spilling onto the drive. She cut the engine and sat still in the car’s hush, chest locked tight. When she opened the door, the night air was sharp, but it didn’t cool her.
Her bag hit the counter. Jacket over a chair. Chris looked up from the kitchen, dish towel in hand. His stance was easy, but the crease in his brow betrayed caution.
“You’re home late,” he said.
“Don’t.” Her voice was taut.
Chris set the towel down. “What happened?”
“What didn’t?” she snapped. Her hands flattened against the counter, pressing hard into the cool surface. It never feels like enough. “And the worst part? Dad defends him. Like trying is enough.”
Chris stayed quiet. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired, Chris. Tired of holding it all together while he stumbles through and still gets a pass.”
Then another voice from the doorway.
“Mum?”
Rachel turned. Emma stood in the hallway glow, shoulders hunched, twisting the hem of her sleeve. Tears brimmed, catching the light.
“Emma?” Rachel’s tone softened.
“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered. “It’s my fault Uncle David was late.”
Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”
Emma glanced at Chris, then back. “I needed to talk to him. About Grandad. I didn’t know how. Uncle David helped me.” The words spilled with her tears.
“He helped you?”
Emma nodded, sniffling. “He said it’s okay if I don’t say everything perfectly. That it’s just about being there. He stayed because I needed him.”
Rachel stepped forward, hands half-raised. “Emma—”
But Emma flinched, face crumpling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin everything!” She turned and bolted up the stairs, her footsteps echoing, a door slamming shut.
Rachel stood still, listening for the latch click above. Her arms dropped to her sides.
“Rach,” Chris said softly. She turned, her mouth tightening, breath catching.
“She told me,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’ve had so much to carry. But so has she.”
Rachel looked toward the staircase, shoulders sagging. “I didn’t realize…”
Chris touched her arm, grounding. She nodded faintly, her eyes fixed upward.
The house was quiet. At the top of the stairs, a closed door held the weight of everything unsaid.
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