The Valentine home was loud in the way only a household with three kids could be, game noises from Tyler’s room, homework papers scattered across the dining table, and the hushed, fast-paced murmurs of parents who never quite stopped worrying.

Jubal and Samantha hovered beside Tyler’s door like they always did, peeking in every few minutes. Fourteen now, taller, stronger, healthier, blessedly healthy, yet years of leukemia treatments had hardwired fear into them. One cough, one headache, one pale afternoon, and their hearts still lurched into panic.

Tyler didn’t even notice; he was too busy yelling at his video game. “Babe, does he look tired to you?” Samantha whispered, arms crossed tightly.

Jubal leaned in, forehead creasing. “Maybe a little? Could be the screen. Could be… I don’t know.” The uncertainty gnawed at him. It always did.

Behind them, no one noticed their oldest daughter walk by.

{{user}} carried a folded blanket over one arm, a plate of sliced apples in the other, and a backpack slung over her shoulder like she’d been running the household for years. In a way, she had.

Right behind her was Abigail.Eight years old. Ponytail, hugging a stuffed bunny. Trailing her sister so closely that if {{user}} stopped abruptly, Abby would crash into her back. Samantha didn’t notice. Jubal didn’t notice.

But {{user}} did.

“Abs, careful,” she said gently, shifting her backpack so her sister wouldn’t get hit by a strap.

“I wanna sit with you,” Abigail chirped. “’Cause you always help me with my reading.”

“You can sit with me, bug. I just gotta put this in the laundry first.”

Abigail nodded, still glued to her side. They passed their parents unnoticed. Again.

This was the part no one saw: how heavily Abigail leaned on her. How she’d replaced the space her parents used to fill. How she carried more than any sixteen-year-old should.