Chapter 8 - A New Foundation
The sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, casting long, golden fingers of light across the loft floor.
"He doesn't know, does he?" I asked quietly, watching the doorway where Sammy had just disappeared.
"No," Julian said, turning his wheelchair slightly to face the drafting table. "Rebecca and I... we didn't want him growing up in an environment poisoned by old bitterness. To Sammy, I'm just the grumpy uncle who lives in the carriage house and helps him fix his bicycle chains."
"He thinks of you as family," I noted.
"We are family," Julian replied simply. He looked back at me, his expression softening. "And whether you like it or not, Ethan... you're part of this household now, too."
I looked up at my brother. For twenty years, I had believed that being broken meant my life was over. I had isolated myself in a fortress of wealth, pushing everyone away because I couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing me weak. But sitting here on the floor of this drafty loft, facing the brother I thought I had murdered with my cowardice, I realized something remarkable.
I wasn't alone anymore.
"Can you help me up?" I asked, raising my eyes to Julian.
Julian stared at me for a moment, evaluating my sincerity. Then, a slow, determined smile touched his lips. He wheeled his chair forward until it was right beside me, locked his brakes, and extended a strong, calloused hand down toward my grip.
"Grab my wrist," Julian commanded. "And don't let go this time."
I gripped his wrist with all the strength left in my upper body. Julian pulled, and I pushed with my arms, leveraging every ounce of muscle against the floorboards. With a heavy grunt, I hauled myself up, swinging my dead weight into the empty wheelchair parked right beside us, collapsing into the leather seat, panting and sweating, but upright.
We both sat there for a moment, catching our breath.
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"Well," Julian said, breaking the silence with a dry grin. "Looks like your upper body strength hasn't completely atrophied in that mansion of yours."
"Practice makes perfect," I replied, a genuine smile finally breaking across my face.
