Chapter Three – Holding On [Narrated]

Welcome back to Holding On.

Last week, we sat with Ralph and Rachel—between beds, between memories. We heard a love story retold in fragments, soft with wear. A story not of endings, but of everything that remains when the noise fades: shared glances, whispered jokes, the comfort of just being there.

This week, the focus shifts. The silences are sharper. The room more crowded with things left unsaid.

Grief doesn’t arrive all at once—it seeps in, often disguised as resentment or regret. In Chapter Three, we step into one of those moments: an argument that’s really about years of missteps. A cup of coffee left untouched. A brother and sister, circling each other with all the precision of people who know exactly where the bruises are.

Some chapters demand attention. Others don’t raise their voices, but you feel them anyway.

This one lingers in the after—after the words, after the footsteps fade. In the ache of trying. In the silence that follows “you always leave.”

Thank you for being here. Stories like this are held best—together.

Chapter Three

The light outside had softened to dusky gold by the time Rachel heard the door ease open. She glanced up sharply. David stood there, takeaway coffee carrier balanced in one hand, his other shoved deep into his pocket. His gaze flicked to Ralph, lingering briefly before settling on her. He hesitated, hovering in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave.

“Brought reinforcements,” he said as he stepped inside, his voice cautious. He placed the drinks on the small table with exaggerated care, as if the simple act might bridge the gap between them.

Rachel’s gaze shifted to the coffee, her arms folding across her chest. Relief flickered briefly before irritation smothered it. He always acted like showing up was enough.

“You’re late.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes burned with accusation.

David’s fingers twitched toward the coffee cups. “Work ran over,” he said, the apology faint, like he wasn’t sure it would land.

Rachel’s laugh was short and bitter. “Work.”

She turned back to Ralph and smoothed the blanket over his legs, her hands trembling faintly. “Chris had to pick up the kids. Rearranged his whole afternoon. Again.”

David stiffened, his hand freezing over the coffee. “I didn’t plan it this way, Rach,” he said quietly. “I’m here now.”

Rachel’s fingers stilled on the blanket. “You always think just showing up is enough, don’t you?”

David flinched, his hand curling around the coffee carrier. He shifted his weight, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice uneven. His fingers brushed the edge of the cup, a small, nervous motion. “You think it’s easy? Walking in here and seeing them like this?”

“Trying?” Rachel echoed bitterly. “Do you know how many times Dad’s asked where you were? How many excuses I’ve had to come up with while you...” Her voice faltered, tightening in her throat. “While you decided this was too hard?”

David’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as his hand curled into a fist. He exhaled slowly, glancing at Ralph before meeting Rachel’s gaze. “I didn’t decide anything, Rachel. You act like you’re the only one hurting.”

She shook her head, her words spilling faster now. “You don’t just show up, David. You drift in. There’s a difference.”

David’s gaze darted to the door, but he stayed rooted. “And you don’t leave room for anyone else, Rachel,” he said, his voice rising slightly. The words came out sharper now, spilling out unguarded. “You’ve already decided I can’t do anything right, so why bother trying?”

Rachel inhaled sharply, her chest aching. “You leave, David. That’s the problem.” Her voice cracked, anger folding into exhaustion. She stepped back, her arms wrapping tighter around herself. “You always leave.”

David looked at her for a long moment, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction. His gaze flicked to Ralph, lingering there as if searching for an answer he couldn’t articulate.

Rachel followed his line of sight, her chest tightening. For a moment, she thought she saw it—the guilt behind David’s silence, the ache he didn’t know how to express. But the thought faded, replaced by her own simmering frustration.

David exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he turned toward the door. He paused, his hand hovering over the coffee carrier. Then he left it behind, untouched, murmuring, “I’ll come back later.”

Rachel didn’t look up, her focus fixed on Ralph’s hand resting on the blanket. She said nothing, but the sound of David’s footsteps retreating down the hall lingered longer than she expected.

Rachel sank into her chair, her gaze drifting to Ralph. The silence pressed in, heavier now without David’s presence to fill it, even briefly. She wrapped her arms around herself, the echo of their argument still sharp in her mind.

What was the point in being right, if all it left behind was this?

Ralph’s breathing filled the room—shallow, uneven, unbearably fragile. Each rise and fall of his chest seemed to teeter on the edge of stillness, and Rachel braced herself against the ache it stirred. Her gaze fell to his hands, still on the blanket. He’d always been restless, his fingers tapping or adjusting something, even in quiet moments.

The stillness now felt wrong. She brushed her fingers lightly over his, the roughness of his skin grounding her as her thoughts drifted.

It brought her back to the doctor’s office, nine months ago, when his hand had trembled in hers.

“Stage IV bowel cancer,” the doctor had said, her voice steady and measured. “It’s spread to the liver.”

Ralph had squeezed her hand, his grip trembling but strong enough to ground her. “Well,” he’d said, his voice brittle but steady, “I guess that diet’s out the window now.”

She’d managed a weak laugh, but the sheen in his eyes had betrayed him. She’d tightened her grip, whispering, “You don’t have to joke, Dad.”

“What else can I do, love?” His hand had steadied slightly. “We’ve got to keep moving, even if it’s uphill the whole damn way.”

Now, his hand lay rough and cool beneath hers. The rise and fall of his chest was faint, like a whisper fading into silence. Rachel brushed her fingers lightly over his, anchoring herself in the moment, even as her thoughts wandered to David. His words lingered, jagged but undeniable: You’ve already decided I can’t do anything right.

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