you’re not alone beside them.”
Leo considered that, then nodded as if it made sense.
Celeste joined us a few minutes later carrying three paper cups of hot chocolate and one coffee for me. She looked nervous, but Leo accepted his cup.
“Careful,” she said. “It’s warm.”
“I know,” he answered, but not unkindly.
We stood there together, strange and imperfect, the city waking beneath us.
My family had once believed reputation was a wall high enough to hide anything: cruelty, greed, cowardice, fear. But walls have shadows, and children grow up inside them. That morning, watching Leo lean against Julian while sunlight flashed on the water, I understood something I had been too tired to believe before.
Truth does not always arrive gently.
Sometimes it comes with helicopters, police lights, shattered glass, and a child’s trembling hand.
Sometimes it ruins the perfect picture.
Sometimes that is exactly what saves you.
