But maybe...
Maybe there’s a chance to find something better in all this wreckage we call a life and we’re not as broken as we think.
Maybe we’re still worth saving.
The scrap yard is peaceful in a broken kind of way.
That’s when I hear the scuff of boots behind me.
I stiffen.
Turn.
Silpha stands there, hands full—one carrying a battered crate stuffed with food supplies, the other tucked awkwardly into her belt.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
"Thought you might need this," she says, voice rough like gravel.
I glare at her.
Hard.
"What I needed," I snap low, keeping my voice just shy of yelling so the kids don't hear, "was a little damn warning."
Silpha’s mouth tightens.
"I didn’t have the luxury," she says flat.
"You had time enough to find him," I hiss. "You had time enough to drag him halfway across the planet?—"
"He deserved to know," she bites out.
"So do I!" I shoot back, stabbing a finger into her chest. "This was my life. My kids. My pain. You don't get to shove him back into it like nothing happened."
We stand there, breathing hard, the wreckage around us humming with the weight of everything unsaid.
Silpha's shoulders sag.
She steps closer, lowering her voice.
"You’re right," she says. "Should've told you. Should’ve given you the choice."
She looks past me, into the yard.
I follow her gaze.
Traz is laughing now, low and warm, spinning Aria around while Joren squeals with delight from his perch.
Silpha watches them for a long moment.
Then she turns back to me, eyes sharp, searching.
"But," she says, voice soft but deadly serious, "if I'd given you that choice... would you have said yes?"
I open my mouth.
