Thank you to everyone who has favourited/ alerted/ reviewed this story already. That really was a quick response, and I wasn't expecting it. Lol.

So here we are, on chapter two. This is the chapter that will set a few more things in motion, sending the story tumbling into its main plot. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Also, ong 4,000 word update. =o

~Millis

January 2nd

Tapping the arm of the chair with a single finger, Max recreated the rhythm warbling from the receiver as she waited for someone to answer her call. It seemed everyone else had the same idea as she; to call them at opening time the first day they reopened after the Christmas period. She'd been on hold with the Young Carer's Association for over two hours, and her patience was beginning to wear thin.

It had been almost a fortnight since Mike had finally left their lives, but it felt like a lifetime now. Christmas had come and gone so quickly and filled the holes in everyone's hearts from the previous year with love and merriment. Even now every member of her household seemed brighter than she thought they would so close to the incident; Nudge and Nickolas had gone for a walk up to their old home to collect clothes and other things they might need, while her own siblings were playing with Christmas toys in the dining room, under orders to keep it down while she was on the phone.

Just days ago, they had trekked the distance between their house and the hospital to exchange Max's wheels for a pair of crutches. With the freedom to move about the house unhindered Max's spirits had returned to a normal level along with everyone else. Another few weeks and she would be allowed to walk, if slowly, without any aid. This is what she was looking forward to – being able to go back to normal.

Only she wasn't sure what normal was anymore.

With the two new additions to the household, there had been a juggling of bedrooms. Gary and Iggy now had their room to themselves, which they quickly spread into by covering the floor in clothes, toys and other miscellaneous rubbish. The blow-up mattress had been located and inflated for Nadia to use, and both she and Angel had been placed into the spare room recently vacated by Max's Father's passing. Finally, Nick had taken up residence in her own room and shared her bed, a few of his belonging stowed on top of her usually empty desk and blocking her mirror.

A constant level of noise, laughter and falling over one another seemed to have become normal. With both Nadia and Nick not quite as savvy at leaving the house blind-friendly, their new brother had gained a couple of bruises and a small wound on his arm since their move-in. He complained about these incidents loudly, but no one took him seriously, since he usually did so with a grin plastered across his pale face.

With so many people in such a small house, accidents were bound to happen, after all.

Finally, the terrible music came to an abrupt end, and the line began to ring. Max pulled herself more upright in what used to be her Father's chair, as if a better posture would help her talk more clearly to the representative she was being transferred to. On her lap she held the last letter she'd received from them, fingering it with a slight nervousness.

It had been the day she'd traded her wheelchair for crutches that Fang had given her this letter. She had been angry that he had kept it hidden from her, but at the same time understood before he even tried to explain that he'd just wanted her to enjoy Christmas. Guilt had stabbed at her stomach but, her stubborn streak taking over, an apology hadn't been able to leave her lips as she'd limped off on her sticks into another room in a show of huffiness. He hadn't acted any different around her in the last few days however, and she wondered if he was aware of the silent apology she tried to portray to him with glances and smiles.

Another click over the receiver. "Good morning, this is the Young Carer's Association helpline." The girl was young and cheerful sounding, and Max couldn't help imagining her with chewing gum in her mouth and twiddling the phone cord like you would on a casual call. "My name is Maria. Please can I take your name?"

"Maxine Martinez," she stated clearly, looking down at the letter before her, allowing the girl to bring up her file. A twang of concern she'd sworn to keep locked away managed to escape into her gut as she studied the words again. She hadn't told the kids she'd received a letter, or what this phone call was about. She didn't want to worry them unnecessarily, especially Gary, who was prone to illness under severe stress or uncertainty.

But she was very concerned what this phone call may set in motion. Her hands were warm and slightly sweaty, and she grasped the paper harder than she intended as she reread it, having to physically force herself to slacken her grip to reveal the thumb shaped crease now in the top corner of the letter.

The typing on the other end of the phone ceased. "And what can I help you with today?" The young lady enquired, seemingly unaware of the letter her company had sent out a week beforehand. There was a slight pause, and then she continued. "Is it regarding the change in circumstances in your home? I have a note attached to your file stating you have been sent a letter due to legal documents that came to our attention through the hospital."

Ah. The hospital told them. She had been wondering how the YCA had known of her Father's death before she'd contacted them, it seemed the hospital took it upon themselves to spread the word of deaths, as they had done with Mike's passing to family members. Fang planned to tell Nudge about her Grandmother's visit while they were out that morning, having put it off for as long as possible due to her already fragile mental state after her Dad's death on Christmas Eve.

She briefly wondered if sharing such information before consent was given was illegal, before remembering she was supposed to respond to the woman on the phone. "Yes," she stated quickly, holding the letter up so she could scan it as she spoke. "One of the blind people in my care, my Father, had an accident and passed away late November last year."

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry." The woman commented in a poorly practiced sympathy, her detachment obvious in her tone. The typing resumed on the other end of the line. "We'll have to send someone out to reassess your family status, just so we can decide how much you should receive. Have you had a change of address since you first contacted us, or would you like any phone numbers or other details updated while I have access to your account?"

Max took a deep breath, debating if she should mention the new member of her household, before finally stating "No, thank you." A feeling she couldn't place sent a sickness through her gut, but she ignored it and folded the letter back up with her free hand. "No details have changed."

"Ok, then that's all set." The typing ceased and a scuffling noise suggested Maria had transferred her receiver to her other hand. "Someone will be dropping by your house in a fortnight to clarify your new details. There's nothing else I can help you with?"

The teen thanked her before disconnecting the call, placing the receiver in her lap and taking a second to stare at the ceiling, her mind chugging away. As they stood, they were a house of minors. On legal records it stated Max had been kept behind a grade at school, making her eighteen in six months yet still a year and a half from getting out of school with grades that currently left a lot to be desired. Her grip tightened on the folded letter once again, but this time she didn't correct herself, too busy trying to blink away a few tears that attempted to escape down her cheeks.

There wasn't a scenario she could envisage that didn't end in her family being torn apart, and it scared her.

oOoOo

Slipping the key into the front door, Nick twisted it inside the lock and pushed the door open in a single fluid move. The air that rushed out to greet him and his sister seemed to be colder than outside, and he shivered, not knowing if it really was colder or he simply imagined it to be. Both teens remained on the threshold of the house, staring into the long, bare hallway without making a sound.

Neither of them wanted to go inside.

Finally, more of a compromise than an acceptance of the inevitability of going into the house, Nick took a few steps into the hall simply to gather the letters that were scattered across the carpet. Few had come in the days between Christmas and New Year, but there was still a handful once they had all been collected together and neatened into a single pile within his hands.

It seemed this was enough incentive for his sister to follow, and soon Nadia was at his side, her eyes still on the pain white walls of the house she'd lived in her entire life. They fell on a small section of the wall and she shuddered involuntarily at the memory of being thrown into it by the one man she thought she'd always be able to trust. Her heart beat rose, and she forced her breath to come out evenly, feeling her chest gasp for air.

She had to overcome this, or it would rule the rest of her life.

"Remember, just pack what you need." Her eyes turned back to her step-brother, and simply seeing his calm face helped her to settle down. He still held the letters in his hand, but they were by his side now, mostly bills and bank statements that would not concern them. He seemed solemn, and Nadia wondered if it was simply returning to the house, or if there was something else on his mind. "One case should be plenty."

Nodding, the girl headed for the stairs, careful not to look around her in case anything evoked memories of her life before her Father had changed. She knew she had an old suitcase tucked under her bed from weekends away and camping trips they used to go on together and, while trying not to think about where she had gone with her Dad and that case, she headed towards her room to retrieve it.

Nick slowly made his way from the hall into the living room, flipping through the letters in his hand for anything that might concern his Mother's whereabouts or any kind of clue of her location. He'd attempted to call her many times over the holidays but always got sent straight to voicemail, indicating her phone was either off or damaged. He'd given up on New Year's Day and decided his best bet was to search for a letter; sure she would not forget the address at which she'd left her son.

It was after three bills, a bank statement and a small wad of junk mail that he found the letter. The address was written with care and attention in his Mother's best handwriting, addressed directly to him. Discarding the others on the coffee table, he searched the envelope for a post mark and even checked the stamp for any clues, but there were no clues as to where the letter had come from.

He turned the crème envelope over and stuck his thumb under the seal, intending to rip it open, but something inside treasured the thing almost irrationally and he found himself carefully peeling the tuck paper apart with care. The glue was not particularly strong and they came away from one another easily, allowing him to take a hold of the letter folded within and drop the envelope, now forgotten, to the carpet.

Nick hesitated, his fingers on the edges of the paper, as a sense of dread slunk into his stomach and made him feel sick. While he wanted to read it more than anything, some part of him dared not open the letter. He could think of few reasons why his Mother would risk sending a letter instead of a phone call and this made him nervous.

Finally, he took a deep breath, and flipped it open.

My Dearest Nickolas,

I only ever wanted the best for the both of us. When I remarried, I thought a new start with a new man, so far away from the mistakes of our pasts, would be a wonderful thing. Mike was such a nice man when he was courting me. He seemed like a dream come true. I now know if something seems too good to be true, you should walk away from it before someone gets hurt.

Please understand how much I love you. I'm sorry if, in the past, I have come across as resentful or even having a hatred of your presence. You must understand that you look so much like your Father, my very first mistake, that sometimes it was hard to bear to see his face.

You've made me proud, Nickolas. You are nothing like your Father. You have a gentle heart and care for those around you; you treated Nadia as if she were your own sister, and the love and affection I saw you bestow on both Brigid and Maxine was much more than he ever showed me. I'm so happy you finally found a girl who appreciates you. She's a keeper.

I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted.

Something has happened, and I can't come home. Please know I never wanted any of this to happen. I love you more than words can describe; you are my only child, my flesh and blood, and I'm so sorry I had to leave you with that man. It is my dearest hope you got out of the house, as I requested, and have found somewhere safe to stay.

Look after your step-sister. It's only a matter of time before she gets the sharp end of Mike's temper. Look out for her as you have for me, in the way you have already that makes me so proud of you.

Love you always,

Your Mother.

A certain numbness descended upon the teen's mind as he reread the letter, the words burning his retinas the second and third times. It was only when a single tear pattered onto the paper, smudging one of his mother's precious last words, that he realised tears had begun to carve crevices down his cheeks. He wiped them away with a shaking forearm and sniffed hard, willing the tears back into his eyes.

His mother was dead.

She hadn't stated this in the letter, but he was certain this was the implication. He could think of no other reason why she wouldn't come back, or suggest that he jump ship and join her in her new haven. For an instant he imagined her in a hotel room, her money all gone and the guilt of a lifetime of bad choices gnawing at her soul, pen to paper and she used her best handwriting to contact the one thing she still cared about.

His next breath was shaky and uneven. He started down at the paper, the words suddenly meaningless, as flashes of ways his mother could have died flickered through his head. Nick closed his eyes tight and let the letter flutter to the floor, pressing his palms to his eyes and falling back a step, bumping into the arm of the sofa behind him. Another breath, this time laboured and shaking, as more tears seeped from his eyes and soaked his hands.

It was a good few minutes before the teen managed to regain some composure, sniffing and lowering his soaked hands to reveal bloodshot eyes. They fell on the letter where it had fallen, very slightly under the coffee table, for a further five minutes before he found the energy to move, to bend down and retrieve it. Still crouched he read the words again, this time drinking in every syllable of his mother's perfect penmanship, hoping beyond reason for a hidden message or location.

But his heart was already fractured by the truth; his Mother was gone. There was no hope of her coming back. His eyes raw from crying, he stood and carefully folded the letter before slipping it into his back pocket, his fingers lingering on the paper for a moment before letting his Mother's last words from his grip.

Without really thinking about it, Nick found himself taking the stairs two at a time. He was supposed to be packing some belongings as well but he strode straight past his room and into the one adjacent; the room his Mother and Mike had shared during their brief life here. He paused in the doorway to flick on the light, the curtains still drawn from Mike's early rise almost two weeks before.

A small part of him was hesitating, irrationally not wanting to set foot in the room. The bed had been left dishevelled and unmade, but other than that everything was neat and tidy. A glass of water remained on his mother's bedside table, as if she were simply in the bathroom and would return any second. A book was propped open on its pages on Mike's side, suggesting he intended to finish it.

It was as if they were both just downstairs. This evening, they would return to their room to drink that water, and read that book, and sleep in that bed. This is the message the room sent to Nick's senses, but he ignored it, instead focusing on the pit of sickness growing in his stomach.

No one was coming back for him.

He stepped into the room as if the floor may try to devour his leg. After that first step, more came much easier and before he knew it he found himself with one hand on his mother's wardrobe door, which was now open, staring at the clothes she used to wear. The surreal-ness of the situation continued to batter his brain as he ran a hand down a skirt that used to be her favourite, memorising the feel of the silky material on his fingers, imagining he could smell her faint perfume even now.

"Nick?" The voice was soft, so quiet he almost missed it entirely. His hand fell from the skirt uselessly to his side, his eyes unfocused on the material, his breathing slow and steady. It was a few seconds before he glanced over at his step-sister. She stood in the doorway with a suitcase in her right hand, a rucksack slung over one shoulder, and sorrow written across her face. "She'll come back for you."

But she won't, he thought sadly, turning his head to glance at her clothes once more, but angling his body to leave. He knew if it were possible she would have come back for him, but everything had changed for the both of them. Their lives had gone from bad to worse in record time and now here he was, almost seventeen, being forced to pick up the pieces and arrange them in a way that left him less broken without a hand to guide him.

He sighed. And here I am about to break one of the only ties I have left. He turned towards his step-sister, but instead of heading towards her he slumped onto the bed, his back feeling too heavy to maintain a good posture. Nick patted the space next to him, motioning for Nudge to take a seat, before folding his arms in his lap. He'd spent a lot of time over the holidays considering how to tell Nudge what was going to happen to her, but now the moment had come, any carefully considered words he'd had in his head evaporated.

Staring down at his fingers, Nick played with the hem of his shirt. "When Mike…when your Father passed away, and the hospital realised you had lost both of your parents, they contacted your next of kin." He paused, hoping Nadia would interject with something, anything, that would help the conversation move along, but she remained silent. He angled his head very slightly to look at her face, and was met with confusion, and he was forced to continue. "Did you ever meet your Grandmother?"

The girl shook her head, and he took a deep breath. "Her name is Adeline. I think she's from your Mother's side of the family, given she has a different surname." He paused again, turning his eyes back to his hands, dropping the hem of his shirt to rub his thighs uncomfortably. "When Mike's will is read in a few weeks' time, she's coming to visit. I think…" he sighed, closing his eyes. "I think she intends to take you home with her."

"No," was the teenager's initial response, and Nick looked up to a kind of fear plastered across the girl's face. Her hands had clenched around the material in her skirt in shock. "I mean, I've never met her before. Do I have to go with her? I want to stay here with you, with Max and her family. They're so nice and we're ok, aren't we? We're managing. We can just tell the-"

"Nadia," he interrupted her rambling, placing a hand on her leg in support. Her eyes fell on his hand rather than his face, finding it easier to focus there. "We want you to stay too, we really do, but it just can't happen right now." He could see tears attempting to well in her eyes. Nick raised his hand to her chin and gently tilted her head up to him, so he could see the concern in his face. "We don't even know if Max's family will stay together yet, not now her Father is gone."

The young girl suddenly looked as fragile as her age, at the thought of yet another family being torn apart. She shuffled closer to her big brother and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his shirt not to cry, but simply to be closer to him. He wrapped his arm around her middle and gently stroked the back of her head with his other hand, resting his chin in her dark curls.

He squeezed her a little tighter. "Your Grandmother will look after you," he whispered, and he felt the teen nod into his shirt in response. She tightened her own grip on him and sniffed. He ran his hand slowly through her curls, hoping the motion would soothe her, allowing her this relapse into a child in need of support since he wished he could do the same.

"Everything will be fine," he lied to her, ignoring the doubt in his own mind. "You'll see."