Day 178

                                    

                                          
The courtyard was alive, buzzing with laughter and the sizzling sounds of a barbecue. Children raced between tables, their faces already streaked with paint, while families lounged in the sun, gathering in little clusters under the bright blue sky. The smell of charred meat mingled with the crisp warmth of the late summer afternoon, a fleeting moment of normalcy in a place where normal was often out of reach.
Gary stood by Wren, holding a beanbag in one hand, a red solo cup in the other. He tossed the bag casually, watching it arc through the air and land with a thud on the grass beside the board. "Ah, so close," he chuckled, stepping aside to give Wren her turn.
She threw her beanbag, her wrist flicking with determination, only to miss the target as well. "Guess I'm as good at this as I am at walking," she joked lightly, though there was a wistfulness in her tone that Gary didn't miss. He gave her a half-smile, the kind a parent gives when they don't know how to fix something for their child.
Across the courtyard, Gary spotted Maeve standing with Mabel and another woman who looked almost like their mirror image—Mabel's other daughter, no doubt. He raised his cup to them in a silent greeting. Maeve noticed and waved back with a small smile, her eyes lingering a bit too long before turning away.
Wren scanned the area, her eyes sweeping past the crowd, but Trey wasn't anywhere in sight. A flicker of disappointment passed across her face.
"I'm gonna use the bathroom," she muttered to her dad.
"Okay," Gary nodded, already making his way toward Maeve and Mabel, his cup sloshing slightly with each step.
Wren made her way through the corridors, the rhythmic whir of her chair contrasting with the thud of her heart—a little heavier with every turn of the wheels. She checked their usual haunts—the lounge, the cafeteria, even the therapy room—but Trey was nowhere to be found. Finally, she arrived at his room, the door slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway.
Peering inside, she found Trey dressed but lying on the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought. She pushed the door open gently, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and concern.
"Hey... you coming?" Wren asked softly, her voice a warm invitation cutting through the stillness.
He turned to her, sitting up slowly. "Yeah... sorry. Just families... feeling kinda weird, you know?"
Wren moved closer, her hand finding his, her touch a reassuring anchor in the swirl of emotions. "You know, family doesn't always have to mean blood. You have family, Trey."
Trey paused, letting her words wrap around him, warm and steady like a quiet embrace. Memories surged—Loretta sitting at his bedside during those endless nights of detox, her presence a lifeline when he thought he couldn't bear it. Wren, in these last few months, standing by him with a fierce loyalty that left him breathless. Even Dr. Bryan, who, while technically obligated by profession, had pushed him further than he thought he could go, his steady encouragement always just enough to keep him moving forward.
They didn't have to do any of it, none of them. Yet each of them had left an indelible mark on him, their care stitching together a fabric of connection he hadn't realized he was missing until now. It felt more real, more solid, than anything he had known before.
A small smile crept onto his face. "Come on, let's get some matching face paint," he said, his fingers caressing her cheek gently, as if to seal the moment.
They both made their way back outside, the warmth of the afternoon sun greeting them like an old friend, and the vibrant sounds of Family Day wrapping around them, pulling them into a world where love and laughter eclipsed everything else.