Walsh Family Universe V2

Claire came over on a Thursday afternoon, six and a half months pregnant now, moving slower and holding her back as Shannon let her in.

"Come sit down, honey," Shannon said. "I'll make tea. How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm carrying a bowling ball," Claire groaned, settling onto the couch. "My feet are so swollen I can barely get shoes on."

Ash was on the floor near his table, building with blocks. He'd been working on a tower—actually working on it, trying to make it stable and tall, the way Miss Jessica had shown him how to problem-solve with construction.

He glanced up when Claire entered but didn't stop building. Just continued stacking, his hands steady, his focus genuine.

Claire watched him for a moment. "Hey, Noam. That's a really good tower."

"Thanks."

He didn't elaborate. Just placed another block carefully on top.

Shannon returned with tea and settled into the armchair. "He's been building a lot lately. Really getting good at it."

"I can see that." Claire sipped her tea, one hand on her belly. "How far along is he now? About a month post-regression?"

"Five weeks tomorrow." Shannon said it with the same tone she might use to discuss a child's age. Marking time in his new life. "He's made remarkable progress. Really settling into routines."

"That's good." Claire shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "I'm sorry about... you know. Last time."

"Oh honey, that wasn't your fault at all," Shannon said immediately. "He was being deliberately difficult. You were just trying to help and learn."

"I know, but it was still awkward for everyone." Claire looked at Ash, who was still focused on his blocks. "I didn't mean to upset you, Noam. I was just trying to practice for when my baby comes."

Ash placed another block. His tower was getting impressively tall now. "Okay."

"Okay?" Claire seemed surprised by the simple acceptance.

"You were practicing. I get it." Ash's voice was flat but not hostile. "I was just... I didn't like it."

"And you expressed that in an inappropriate way," Shannon added gently but firmly. "But we've moved past that now. Haven't we?"

"Yeah."

The tower wobbled slightly. Ash steadied it with careful hands. Managed to add two more blocks before the height made it impossible to continue safely.

"That's so tall!" Claire said. "How many blocks is that?"

Ash counted quickly. "Fifteen."

"Wow. That's impressive for a two-year-old." Claire caught herself. "I mean—for your current situation."

"It's okay." Ash carefully dismantled the tower, block by block, setting them aside in a neat pile. "I know what I look like."

Shannon and Claire exchanged glances. Some kind of silent sister communication.

"He's been very matter-of-fact about things lately," Shannon explained. "The play therapist thinks it's healthy—acknowledging reality without getting stuck in anger about it."

"Play therapist?" Claire asked.

"Miss Jessica. She comes once a week from the facility. Works with him on age-appropriate play and emotional expression." Shannon watched Ash start building a new structure—this time something wider, like a wall or fence. "He's responding really well to it."

"That's great." Claire set down her tea, both hands on her belly now. "Oh! He's kicking again. This baby is so active."

"Want to feel?" Shannon moved to sit beside Claire, hand on her daughter's belly.

Ash continued building. His hands moving automatically now, creating a structure without really thinking about it. His mind partly on the blocks, partly on the conversation happening behind him.

They talked about pregnancy symptoms and baby names and nursery colors. Normal conversation between a mother and her pregnant daughter. As if Ash wasn't there on the floor, playing with toddler toys while they discussed actual infant care.

After a while, Claire asked, "Can I play with him? I promise not to change any diapers."

She said it lightly, trying to make a joke of it. Shannon laughed.

"Of course! I think he'd like that. Noam, Claire wants to play blocks with you. Is that okay?"

Ash looked up. Claire was already lowering herself carefully to the floor, moving slow because of her belly.

"Yeah, okay."

Claire sat cross-legged—well, as cross-legged as her pregnant body allowed—and picked up some blocks. "What are we building?"

"I was making a fence."

"A fence for what?"

Ash paused. In his play therapy sessions, Miss Jessica would ask these kinds of questions. Would encourage him to create narratives, to make the play meaningful beyond just stacking objects.

"For animals," he heard himself say. "To keep them safe."

"Oh! Like a zoo?" Claire started adding to the fence he'd begun. "We should make enclosures then. Different spaces for different animals."

They built together. Claire following Ash's lead, asking questions about the structure, suggesting additions. It was collaborative in a way that felt different from their last interaction.

Less clinical. More genuine.

"Do you have toy animals?" Claire asked.

"In the toy box."

Ash got up—walked, didn't need to be carried—and retrieved a handful of plastic animals from the bin. A lion, elephant, giraffe, zebra. He brought them back and started placing them in the block enclosures.

"The lion needs the biggest space," he said, positioning it carefully. "Because he's dangerous."

"Good thinking. And the elephants are social, so they should be together." Claire placed two elephant figures side by side.

Shannon watched from the couch, a soft smile on her face. This was what she wanted, Ash realized. Him playing naturally with his siblings. Engaging in normal family interactions. Showing that he was adjusting, adapting, becoming the child they expected.

And he was doing it. Without being forced. Without major resistance.

Just playing blocks with his sister while she practiced being gentle and patient before her own baby arrived.

"This is nice," Claire said quietly after they'd built several enclosures. "Playing together. I missed this—well, not this exactly, but spending time with you."

"We never played blocks together before."

"No, but we spent time together. Did things together." Claire arranged the last few blocks into a pathway. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know this whole situation is terrible. But I'm glad you're still here. Still alive."

Ash didn't respond. Just moved the giraffe to a different enclosure.

"I mean it," Claire continued. "When they first told us about the program, I thought it was insane. Cruel. But then I thought about the alternative—you in prison for twenty years. Or dead from an overdose. And this seemed less cruel than either of those options."

"It's still cruel."

"I know. But you're alive. And you're here. And maybe someday..." She trailed off.

"Someday what?"

"I don't know. Someday it'll be over? Someday you'll be eighteen again and this will just be a really fucked up memory?"

"I'll be forty."

"I know." Claire's hand went to her belly again. "This baby will be sixteen by then. Can you imagine? My kid will be a teenager when you're finally an adult again."

The math was incomprehensible. But also concrete. Real. This baby Claire was carrying would be in high school by the time Ash reached eighteen again.

"That's weird to think about," Ash admitted.

"Everything about this is weird." Claire moved the zebra figures into their enclosure. "But I'm trying to make peace with it. With the choice Mom and Dad made. With you being this way. With all of it."

"Have you made peace with it?"

"Not really. But I'm trying. And I think... I think maybe it's working? Like, right now, playing blocks with you—it doesn't feel as wrong as it did a month ago."

"That's because I'm acting more like a toddler now."

Claire considered this. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just getting used to the new reality. Accepting what is instead of fighting what should be."

"Sounds like something a therapist would say."

"I've been seeing one, actually. To process all this. The pregnancy and... everything with you." Claire smiled slightly. "She says it's okay to grieve the person you were while still loving the person you are now."

"I'm still the same person."

"Are you?" Claire's voice was gentle, not challenging. "Because you're playing blocks with me right now. Building a zoo. Placing animals. A month ago, you would have refused or gotten angry or found a way to sabotage it."

Ash looked at the block structures they'd built together. The neat enclosures. The carefully placed animals. The collaborative creation.

She was right. A month ago he would have refused. Would have fought. Would have seen playing blocks with Claire as betrayal, as submission, as defeat.

Now he was just... playing blocks.

"I'm tired of fighting," he said quietly.

"I know. And that's okay. You don't have to fight all the time." Claire reached over and gently moved a block that was unstable. "You can just exist. Just be."

"Just be Noam."

"Just be you. Whatever that looks like right now."

Shannon called from the kitchen that she was making an early dinner. Would Claire like to stay?

"Sure," Claire said, starting to push herself up from the floor. "Need help up, buddy?"

She held out her hand. Ash looked at it—his older sister, pregnant and awkward, offering help to her toddler brother.

He took her hand. Let her help pull him to his feet, even though he could manage on his own.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Claire ruffled his hair—a gesture that would have felt condescending a month ago but now just felt... normal. Affectionate. Sisterly.

They ate dinner together—Ash in his high chair, Claire and Shannon at the table. The conversation flowed around him, occasionally including him but mostly just normal family chatter.

Claire talked about baby preparations. Shannon shared updates about church activities. Ash ate his cut-up chicken and vegetables, listening without contributing much.

After dinner, Claire helped clean up while Shannon gave Ash his bath. Then Claire came upstairs to say goodbye, finding Ash in pajamas being tucked into the crib.

"Goodnight, Noam," she said from the doorway. "Thanks for playing with me today. I had fun."

"Me too," Ash said. And realized with a small shock that it was true.

He had enjoyed building the block zoo with Claire. Had found the collaborative play satisfying in a simple, uncomplicated way.

Not because he accepted his situation. Not because he believed this was okay.

But because his body and brain were responding to appropriate stimuli. Because play with a safe person felt good. Because creating something, even something as simple as block structures, satisfied some need for expression and connection.

"See you soon," Claire said. "Maybe next time we can build something even bigger."

After she left, Shannon finished the bedtime routine. Story time—a picture book about a bear family. Then tucked in, mobile wound up, door cracked.

"You were so good with Claire today," Shannon said, kissing his forehead. "I'm very proud of you. And I think Claire really appreciated getting to spend time with you like that."

"She was practicing."

"Maybe a little. But mostly she just wanted to connect with her little brother." Shannon stroked his hair. "You're a good boy, Noam. Such a sweet, good boy."

The praise should have felt hollow. Manipulative. Another attempt to reinforce compliant behavior.

But Ash's chest felt warm anyway. His body responding to the affirmation, to the gentle touch, to the comfort of being tucked in safely.

"Night, Mom."

The word came automatically now. Not Mommy—he'd never fully managed that—but Mom. The compromise his brain had settled on between total resistance and complete submission.

"Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams."

The door closed most of the way. The mobile played its tinny lullaby.

Ash lay in the dark, thinking about block zoos and pregnant sisters and the way playing had felt almost fun.

He'd engaged genuinely today. Had created collaboratively. Had enjoyed his sister's company without resentment or rage.

Had been, for a few hours, something close to the child they wanted him to be.

Not because he'd consciously chosen it. But because it had been easier than fighting. More pleasant than resistance. More natural than his stubborn refusal used to be.

Five thousand seven hundred and sixty-six days to go.

But today hadn't been about counting down. Hadn't been about enduring until some distant future freedom.

Today had just been... today. Building blocks and eating dinner and going to bed.

Living in the present instead of fighting toward the future.

Existing as Noam instead of clinging desperately to Ash.

"My name is Ash," he whispered into the dark. But the words felt more like ritual than truth now. Something he said because he'd always said it, not because it meant what it used to mean.

"I'm twenty-four years old." But he'd played blocks with his sister today. Had built a zoo. Had placed animals in enclosures and collaborated on structure design.

Had enjoyed it.

"I'm an artist." But his art now was block towers and play dough figures and washable marker drawings.

Was that still art? Was that still him?

Or was he becoming someone new? Someone who fit this life, this body, this reality?

Someone named Noam who played with blocks and didn't hate every second of it?

The mobile wound down. The room fell into silence.

Ash—Noam—whoever he was now—closed his eyes.

And dreamed of block towers that reached the ceiling and toy animals that came alive and sisters who weren't afraid to play with him anymore.

Simple dreams.

Toddler dreams.

Dreams that felt, for the first time, not quite like nightmares.

Just dreams.

And in the morning, he'd wake up and get changed and eat breakfast and maybe build something new.

Because that's what he did now.

That's who he was becoming.

Day by day. Block by block.

Until the person he'd been was buried so deep under the person he was becoming that he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Until Noam wasn't a performance but simply reality.

And maybe—just maybe—that was happening faster than he'd thought possible.

Maybe it was already happening.

Maybe it had already happened.

The thought should have terrified him.

But he was too tired to be terrified.

Too comfortable in his crib to feel anything but sleepy contentment.

Too adapted to his life to remember why he'd fought so hard against it.

Tomorrow Claire might come back. They might build something even bigger.

And Ash would play with her.

Because he was Noam now.

And Noam played blocks with his sister.

That's what good boys did.