Chapter 20: Day 2 Baptism of Lead and Fire Part 2

The heavy silence in the Sterling’s breakfast nook was finally broken by my mother’s voice, a gentle current flowing through the speakerphone.

“Rey,” she began, her tone soft, deliberately shifting the focus away from the emotional minefield we’d just navigated. “I don’t want you to worry. Your father felt very tired today. We’re planning to visit a doctor later, just to check in.”

A frown creased my brow, a familiar knot of concern tightening in my chest. “Is he overworking himself again, like always?”

A faint, weary smile was audible in her voice. “You guessed right.”

I sighed, a sound sharp with a frustration I knew all too well. “Please, don’t let him work for the rest of the week. If you and I aren’t there to stop him, he’ll push himself to death.” The words were a familiar refrain, a battle we’d fought for years against his relentless drive. My voice softened, the anger giving way to a simple, aching plea. “I just hope he gets better.”

A beat of quiet passed. I took a breath, guiding the conversation onto the next crucial, pre-planned point. “Mom, did Iris tell you she’s not moving out after all?”

Her voice on the other end of the line instantly brightened, a wave of pure, unadulterated relief. “Yes, she did! I’m so happy. I mean, it’s her choice, of course. We’ll support her either way.” She tried to temper her joy, to maintain a respectable distance for Iris’s independence, but the sheer, bubbling happiness in her voice was impossible to contain.

Eveline, who had been observing with the quiet focus of a director watching a scene unfold, cut in with a theatrical grin. “Lily, if it were Arya moving out, I’d chain her to the house. My babies can’t go anywhere without me.”

“Mom,” Arya groaned, the sound a familiar mixture of exasperation and affection. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Eveline shot back, her green eyes sparkling. A ripple of soft, genuine laughter went through the room, a welcome respite from the tension.

Then Luke, his expression thoughtful, turned his attention back to the phone. “But did you ask Iris why she changed her mind, Lily?”

The question was calm and simple, but it hit like a punch. The room tensed. The truth was a mess, twisted and stretched across four versions of yesterday. The story we’d made up had to hold.

My mother’s voice, when she spoke again, had shifted, her earlier joy tempered by a note of serious concern that commanded the room’s full attention. “She did tell me,” she said.

The stillness that followed was complete.

“She said juggling university life and being an influencer made her anxiety unbearable.”

Eveline blinked, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching in genuine surprise. “Wait, a what? Influencer? Like a social media celebrity?”

“Yes,” Lily confirmed, her own voice still holding a note of astonishment. “She’s what they call a Vtuber.”

Luke looked genuinely puzzled. “What’s that?”

Without a word, Leo leaned over and handed his tablet to his father. On the screen was the vibrant, starry avatar of Stellaris, Iris’s channel page open, the subscriber count a stark, unbelievable number.

Eveline leaned in, her actress’s eyes scanning the details with a professional, appraising gaze. “Well, well. Little Iris is a celebrity.” A thoughtful frown touched her lips. “I might be able to help her with that, actually. The pressure, the performance… I understand it more than most.” She looked up, her gaze meeting Luke’s. “Still, I don’t think the influencer life is the only reason she was running.”

My mother’s voice came through the speaker again, affirming Eveline’s suspicion. “Exactly. Moving out wasn’t a real solution, it was more like running away. What really helped, she told us, was finally opening up about her anxiety yesterday.” Lily’s tone softened. “And seeing that miracle, the cancer patient, Emily, getting cured, it gave her a profound sense of hope. After talking it out with everyone, she realized that leaving, isolating herself, didn’t make sense anymore.”

I held my breath, every part of me tense. This delicate web of half-truths, stitched from real fears and carefully chosen moments, felt like it could break at any second. If it fell apart, I had nothing. I stared at the phone, at the silence where my mother’s voice should’ve been, and whispered, “What do you think?”

Her voice, when it came, trembled. A single, audible crack appeared in her composure. “I’m just… happy my family is staying together.”

Another beat of silence, then a choked, watery sound. “Sorry, everyone, I need a moment.” The call ended abruptly, leaving behind a profound, echoing quiet.

Eveline and Luke spoke into the sudden silence, their voices warm with a shared, parental empathy. “Take care, Lily.”

I let out a slow, unsteady breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It had worked. The plan, pulled together from the wreckage of yesterday, had actually worked. The mix of honest truths and careful gaps had eased the last of our parents’ concerns. For the first time since this all began, a fragile sense of closure settled over me. Yesterday, with all its pain and chaos, was finally behind me.

The Sterlings' sedan was a haven of calm. The rich scent of leather and polish replaced the sharp memory of hospital antiseptic still lingering in my mind. Morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting golden bands across the seats as we passed through the city. Outside, the usual bustle was strangely subdued, as if the world itself had paused, echoing the uneasy stillness in my chest.I leaned my head back against the cool leather, my gaze fixed on the car’s ceiling, seeing nothing. My voice, when I spoke, was soft, barely more than a breath, yet it filled the quiet car. “Thanks, guys. Without you… I don’t know if I could’ve made it through any of this.”

Leo, in the seat beside me, looked over, his expression calm and steady, the morning’s tension having finally melted away. “Rey, you don’t have to thank us. That’s what friends are for.”

Arya turned slightly in the front passenger seat, her profile outlined by the bright morning light. She met my eyes in the rearview mirror, her gaze steady and unblinking. There was no judgment there, just a deep, aching empathy that felt more piercing than any accusation ever could.

“I’m sorry for bringing this up again, Rey, but I don’t think Dad was wrong. You fought something, something real, and it took a part of you with it. I can feel it.” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made peace with not knowing the whole story… but at least let me grieve for what was lost.”

I stared at the back of her headrest, the fabric weave suddenly seeming impossibly detailed. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at Leo. Her words had bypassed every wall I had, a quiet truth that settled in my gut like a stone. She saw it. It felt like she could see right through me, even if she couldn't understand what she was looking at.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was too tight. Then, a faint sound escaped my lips, a small, breathy puff of air that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t a sob either. It was just… air.

Leo’s brow furrowed. “Rey?”

The sound came again, louder this time, thin and cracked around the edges, shaped like sheer disbelief. “You two…”

My shoulders began to tremble. The sound grew, rising from my chest, uneven and raw, a sound caught somewhere between amusement and a pain so profound it had no other escape. My hand flew to my mouth as if to stifle it, but the laughter broke past my fingers, catching in my throat, ragged and hysterical. And then, the dam broke.

Tears, hot and sudden, spilled down my cheeks.

I tried to brush them away, a frantic, useless gesture, but they kept coming, my laughter breaking apart mid-breath, dissolving into choked, gasping sobs. “God… you two are so dramatic,” I choked out, the words mangled by the force of my breakdown. “Arya, you sound like you’re giving a funeral speech.”

Arya blinked, completely caught off guard, her own carefully constructed composure shattering. “What, ? Rey, are you crying or laughing?”

Leo leaned forward, the concern on his face immediate and absolute, his voice soft. “Hey… you okay?”

I nodded, the gesture a jerky, convulsive movement through the tears and the broken laughter. “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” I gasped, the confession a release of its own. “I just, God, it’s like everything hit me at once.”

Arya reached over the seat, her hand landing gently on my shoulder. The touch was a small, grounding pressure in the swirling chaos of my emotions. “It’s okay.”

I sniffled, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to drag in a full breath. “You said, ‘let me grieve for what was lost’ like you were in a Shakespeare play.” The absurdity of it, the raw dramatic devotion behind those words, struck me as both the saddest and funniest thing in the world.

A grin spread across Leo’s face, chasing the last of the worry from his eyes. “Pretty sure she rehearses her lines in the mirror. Whole monologues.”

Arya just rolled her eyes and gave Leo's arm a light, dismissive tap with the back of her hand. "I do not."

And I laughed again. This time it was clearer, lighter. Still teary, still broken, but with a note of genuine, unburdened amusement. The crushing weight on my chest seemed to lift, just a fraction.

“I love you both,” I said, the words coming out soft and clear in the aftermath of the storm. “Even if you’re the weirdest support group ever.”

Leo grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We know.”

The car rolled on, sunlight warming our faces. Behind laughter and tears, in the quiet moment when we finally shared our burden, something fragile and healing began to grow.