The balmy air embraced Derek as soon as he stepped off the plane, the smell of the ocean rushed to greet him. His family spilled out onto the tarmac behind him, each one squinting against the bright Bahamian sun.

"Look, there's Harry!" Lola squealed, pointing toward a scruffy young man holding up a crooked sign scrawled with 'Welcome Fam Jam!'

"Harry!" Derek called out, waving. His older brother tossed the cardboard sign aside as he corralled them into a group hug.

"Man, it's good to see you guys," Harry said, his voice carrying the warmth of the Caribbean breeze as he led them to a rugged jeep parked nearby.

"So how are things in the great white north?" Harry asked once they were all buckled in and bumping along the scenic drive to the docks. The jeep's open sides offered views of turquoise waves crashing against the shore.

Lola bounced in her seat, eager to share. "I'm the best at math now! Oh, and look—" She beamed as she pointed to a gap in her smile where a tooth had been. "My last baby tooth!"

"The last one eh? Sound like it should be worth at least five dollars then, hopefully, the tooth fairy gets the message" Harry chuckled, giving his father a look that Lola missed.

Their parents shared mundane updates from home, but their questions quickly turned to Harry's absence during Thanksgiving.

"Ah, well, there's a reason I've been staying put, I've been saving up," Harry said, catching a look in his mom's eye. "I'm going to pop the question to Saline. But that meant getting a ring, turns out they're not cheap"

"Harry, that's wonderful!" their mother exclaimed, while their father clapped him on the back.

As the houseboat came into view, a floating oasis bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, the family was still asking about how exactly Harry planned on proposing.

"Let's get settled in," Harry suggested, helping to unload luggage onto the deck. Dodging a question about when exactly he planned on proposing.

Derek lingered by the jeep, unloading bags with a vacant stare, his mind elsewhere. Harry hung back, leaning against the jeep with crossed arms and a knowing look.

"Okay, spill it, little bro. You've been quiet. What's the update with you?" Harry prodded gently.

Derek hesitated, not exactly sure if he wanted to tell the whole story to his brother. After all, things always worked better between them when things were kept light.

"School's been...school," Derek finally said, shrugging noncommittally.

"Right... and? There has got to be more than that," Harry encouraged, trying to draw him out.

"There is," Derek replied, forcing a half-smile. "Marcy and I are looking for a place to rent next year,"

"Oh right," Harry nudged him with an elbow, a playful glint in his eye, "you'll have to bring that brainy girlfriend of yours to the wedding. If she doesn't dump you before that,"

"Shut up," Derek laughed, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders as he playfully shoved Harry in return. It felt good to laugh, even if just for a moment.

"Come on," Harry said, clapping Derek on the back as they carried the last bags onto the boat. "Let's get ready for Saline. Don't tell Mom because she will totally give it away but tonight is the night, I wanted you all here for it,"

Derek nodded, following Harry to the boat. He was excited for his brother, and Saline was already practically a part of the family already.

---

Back in Strathroy, the gentle rustling of bed sheets punctuated the otherwise silent room as Rodney shifted under his covers, the dim light from the window falling on his face. His mother’s voice, soft and concerned, filtered through the crack in the door.

"Rodney, honey, it's time to get up. We need to see Dr. Henderson today."

"I can't," came the muffled reply from the cocoon of blankets. "Just go without me. I'm just too tired, I need to sleep."

Sasha stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes flicked to Marcy, who had just arrived, bags still in hand, concern etching her face.

"Rodney, why don't we go with Mom," Marcy chimed in, setting down her luggage. "We can catch up on the drive, I want to tell you all about campus life."

"Please, both of you," Rodney's voice cracked slightly, he didn't feel like he could follow along to one of Marcy's stories right now, "I just need to sleep, I'm so tired."

Sasha sighed, her heart aching. Later, in the kitchen, she recounted Rodney's symptoms to Dr. Henderson on the phone—a litany of lethargy, disinterest, and withdrawal. "I think his medication isn't working," she concluded, worry threading her words.

"Sounds like it," he agreed, the concern clear even through the receiver. "I'll prescribe something stronger. Make sure you watch him take them, Sasha. If things get worse or he reacts badly, stop immediately. You can pick up his prescription this afternoon."

"Thank you," Sasha replied, her voice laced with gratitude and a sliver of hope.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

At the pharmacy, Sasha clutched the small paper bag containing Rodney's new medication to her chest, whispering to herself, "This has to work."

Back at home, she approached Rodney with the pills and a glass of water. "This is the new stuff," she said gently.

Rodney turned away, his voice firm despite the hoarseness, "It didn't work last time. Why do you think these would be any different."

Sasha knew she couldn't force her son to take the meds but she had to do something. So, she resorted to tricking him into taking them, crushing the tablets and stirring them into his mashed potatoes at dinner. She watched Rodney eat, hoping the gravy he poured over them would mask the taste of the medication.

In the following days, subtle changes began to manifest. Rodney would occasionally wander out of his room, his eyes still hooded but no longer vacant. He didn’t say much, but he was present, and that was a start.

"Want to help me with the tree?" Sasha asked tentatively one evening, boxes of Christmas decorations scattered around the living room.

"Sure," Rodney responded, his voice a notch above a whisper. It wasn't enthusiasm, but it wasn't a refusal either.

As they decorated, Sasha caught glimpses of her son’s careful selection of ornaments, placing each one with care. He stopped with different ornaments, almost like he was reliving a memory about them.

"Looks good," Marcy noted, walking into the room, relief softening her features as she exchanged a glance with Sasha.

"Can I... can we bake cookies tonight?" Rodney asked, almost hesitant. His expression was unreadable, but Sasha took the request as a good sign.

"Of course," Sasha replied, her voice catching with emotion. "I think I have that recipe for those candy cane cookies somewhere."

They spent that evening rolling dough and cutting out shapes, the scent of baking cookies warming the house. Rodney’s movements were still slow, each action measured, but he was there, participating, and that was more than Sasha could have hoped for just a few days ago.

Despite his progress, Rodney remained silent about his friends, about school, about everything that had led him here. But as Sasha watched her son carefully place a freshly baked cookie on the cooling rack, she allowed herself to believe that everything was going to work out in the end and they would soon forget all about this moment in time.

that night in bed, Rodney's fingers hovered over his phone as he read through the old texts from his friends. His thumb twitched, ready to tap out a message, an apology but he worried that too much time had passed and he was too late to fix things. He thought back to everything he said that night, he wondered what his mom would say if she knew. He started to wonder what his dad would think, if he was still alive, if he would be disappointed in him.

"Maybe I should just... try it," Rodney murmured to himself, a knot tightening in his stomach while he tried to shake the thought of his father's disappointment, his face full of disproval, feeling his dad's eyes on him. The feeling made him sick and he decided maybe he did need that medication his mom had picked up.

He trudged to the bathroom, the house silent except for the soft hum of the heater. Opening the medicine cabinet with a creak, he fished out the orange bottle. He carefully read the label: 'Take one tablet daily.' He counted the remaining pills. Half gone. Confusion twisted into a sharp sting of betrayal.

"Mom has been..." His voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "Guess that explains it."

Clutching the bottle tightly, Rodney retreated to his room, wondering if his mom had already snuck one to him today. He sank onto the edge of his bed, the bottle's cap clicking open with ease. The first pill landed on his palm with a soft tap, he felt terrible so she must have forgotten today. He swallowed it dry, waiting for the familiar calm to wash over him.

"Come on," he whispered to himself, his heart hammering against his ribcage. "Work."

Minutes dragged by, and nothing changed, he didn't feel happy at all. He remembered when a doctor had explained that due to his height and size, he headed to take two painkillers instead of the usual one. A second pill joined the first, then a third, as he hoped to feel the numbing sensation fade away. Rodney tried to summon the lightness he'd felt while decorating cookies, but it seemed just beyond reach, a mirage.

"Please," he pleaded, a solitary figure amidst the crumpled sheets, his plea echoing in the silence. "I just want to feel something."

His hand shook as he stared down at the bottle, clearly there was something wrong with it. He poured some out onto his hand, maybe this was the old stuff that didn't work. Rodney reasoned a couple more would tell him if they were or not, the room spinning slightly as he lay back and waited to feel happy again.

The front door swung open with a gentle creak, the sound of bags rustling filling the quiet house as Mrs. Thompson called out, "Rodney, we're back!"

Marcy trailed behind, her arms laden with shopping bags. They both paused at the threshold, waiting for Rodney's usual response, but silence met them instead.

"Maybe he's asleep?" Mrs. Thompson reasoned as she set down her bags and moved further into the home. Marcy nodded as she began to unpack the bags filled with ingredients for their Christmas dinner.

Sasha made her way to the hall, "Rodney are you awake, Marcy and I were thinking about watching a movie tonight if you feel up to it," but no response came. She turned from the door and noticed the bathroom light was on.

"Oh, Rodney," Mrs. Thompson huffed as she moved to turn off the light.

That's when she noticed it, the bathroom mirror was slightly off as if someone had gone through the medicine cabinet. She approached the mirror with a growing unease settling inside her, opening it to mind Rodney's prescription missing.

"Rodney?" She called out, now racing back to his room.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark room, a chilling sight unfolded. There, lying on the carpet was the pill bottle, a few pills scattered around it.

"Mom?" Marcy's voice came from behind her, Sasha's feet rooted to the spot for a second before she sprang into action, rushing to Rodney's side.

"Call 911!" Sasha yelled over her shoulder, her hands shaking as she turned Rodney onto his side, and checking to ensure nothing was obstructing his airway. She swept her fingers through his hair, murmuring, "Stay with me, Rodney, please."

She looked up as Marcy dashed into the room, phone pressed against her ear, speaking hurriedly to the emergency dispatcher. Tears welled in Sasha's eyes as she whispered to Rodney, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about the meds. Please, Rodney, stay with me."

---

Beeping machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room where Rodney slowly drifted back to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, revealing the blurry figures of his mother and sister, slumped in chairs beside his bed, exhaustion etched into their faces.

He tried to shift, a groan escaping his lips as he felt the tug of the IV line attached to his arm. His movements roused Mrs. Thompson, who immediately leaped to her feet and enveloped him in a tight embrace.

"Rodney!" she cried out, relief and anguish blending in her voice. "Oh thank God, you're awake!"

Tears spilled over Rodney's cheeks, a sob catching in his throat. "Mom, Marcy... I'm so sorry," he choked out, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to... I just wanted it to feel good. I wanted to be happy again."

"Shh, it’s okay. You're okay, and that's all that matters right now," Mrs. Thompson reassured him, brushing away his tears with a trembling hand. "We'll figure this out together, we'll get you anything you need."

Marcy, now awake, wrapped her arms around both Rodney and her mom, her own sobs mingling with theirs. "Promise me, Rodney," she said between cries. "Promise you'll never do something like this again."

"I'm so sorry Marcy, I promise I won't," Rodney whispered, holding onto his sister and mother, the three of them clinging to one another amidst the beeping monitors.