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“You did.”

The words hang there, neither cruel nor comforting. Just honest.

“I left her with you because I knew—” Her eyes finally find mine, her expression unguarded for once. “—because I knew she’d be safe.”

I don't know what to do with that. Part of me wants to be angry. Another part wants to hug her. Mostly, I just feel tired. Tired of being the one who cares too much. The one who always steps in when everything falls apart. The one left fixing her mistakes time and again.

A bitter chuckle leaves me. “So you trusted me, but not enough to help you.”

Livia winces and wipes at her cheek with the heel of her hand, her fingernails bitten down. “Asking for help would've meant admitting how badly I was falling apart. And I couldn't do that. I convinced myself she was better off without me.”

“You were wrong. You didn't just leave her.” I point out and her face crumples. “You left me, too.”

My sister lowers her gaze again, rubbing at a stain in the wooden tabletop with her thumb like she's trying to erase it. She ignores my last comment and I let it go.

“So, what happens now?” I ask after another beat of silence.

Livia blinks slowly, her eyes rimmed red like she hasn’t slept in days. “I don't know.”

“Okay.” I lean back in my chair and let out a slow breath, forcing myself not to push. She’s here. For now, that has to be enough. “We’ll figure that part out together.”

“I've been going to meetings.”

The aching in my chest loosens, though not enough to call it relief. “Good.”

“I've got a counselor.”

“Good,” I repeat and I mean it. Livia better keep in touch with said counselor.

“They want me to find somewhere stable.”

“They're right.”

“I don't want to keep running anymore.”

The words land somewhere deep, right in the part of me that wants so badly to believe her. I've spent years watching her run. From our hometown. From the past. From grief. From herself. Every time I thought she'd finally stopped, something sent her sprinting again. I don't know whether this time will be different. I desperately want it to be, though.

“You don't have to figure out the rest tonight. Tomorrow we'll make a plan,” I suggest.

“A plan?”

“One step at a time.” I start counting them off on my fingers without really thinking. “We'll look at meetings close by. I'll help you find somewhere permanent when you're ready. If your counselor thinks rehab would help, we'll look into that too. Whatever comes next, you won't have to do it alone.”

She presses her lips together, blinking rapidly. “I don't deserve that.”

“Maybe not.” The honest words surprise both of us. “But I'm not helping you because you've earned it. I'm helping you because you're my sister.”

For a moment neither of us says anything. Then her shoulders finally sag, as though she's been holding herself together through sheer force of will.

“I'm so tired, Ollie,” she says.

“I know. Me too.”

My mind is already moving ahead. Livia needs a place to stay that isn’t another couch that could disappear overnight and money for basic essentials so desperation doesn’t push her somewhere dangerous again. I'll have to look into rehab programs, support meetings close by and see what resources her counselor has connected her with. One problem at a time. That's how we've always survived.

“You can stay here,” I tell my sister. “As long as you need to get back on your feet.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening. “Are you sure?” Livia asks, voice breaking.