Chapter 28 #2
My dad looks down, his expression miserable.
When he doesn't respond, I take a breath and force myself to say the rest. "If you refuse to let me help you, if you stay in that house and rot away with Mom's ghost, then I'm done.
I won't come back." Wiping away tears, I shake my head.
"I can't do it anymore. I won't sacrifice myself the way she did. "
I wait for the explosion. Surely this is the part where he tells me I'm overreacting or being dramatic or not understanding what it's like to lose someone. That's what he's done every other time I've worked up the courage to push back on the few times I've tried to broach this subject.
Instead, Dad's shoulders slump in defeat. When he looks up, his eyes are wet with tears tracking down through the bruises. "You're right."
I blink in surprise. "What?"
"You're right." His voice sounds rough, broken, scraped raw.
"I've been hiding in that house, in the memories, in the past. Your mom would be furious if she saw what I've become.
" He swipes at his face with his good hand, smearing the tears.
"I don't know how to start over. I'm lost, baby.
I forgot how to be anything but the man who lost your mom. "
Something loosens in my chest, painful and necessary, like pulling out a splinter that's become infected. "You don't have to figure it out alone. But you do have to try. You have to want to try."
Dad nods slowly, mechanically. "Okay. If you and Sable will help me, I'll try. I promise I'll try."
My eyes well up. "That would mean so much to me."
Silas's hand settles on my shoulder, warm and grounding. I lean back into him without thinking, needing his steadiness to keep me upright.
"We'll find you something," I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "A fresh start. But you have to meet us halfway, Dad. We can't do this for you."
Dad's eyes drift to Silas, then back to me, and something shifts in his expression. "He's a good one."
My cheeks heat despite everything. "Dad, this isn't the time..."
"Don't let this one go." His voice is firmer now, more like the father I remember from before. "A man who drives you two hours in the middle of the night doesn't do that unless you matter to him."
I can't look at Silas, can't see his reaction to my father's words. But his hand tightens on my shoulder with fingers pressing in just slightly. He's still here, and that's answer enough for now.
We leave after Dad falls asleep, with the nurse promising to call if anything changes. They want to keep him overnight for observation to make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications. I'm wrung out and exhausted with emotions scraped so raw I feel like I'm walking without skin.
In the truck, Silas doesn't start the engine right away. He sits there with his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead at the dark parking lot.
"You were right," he says finally. "Your dad probably won't tell you, but you made the right call. He should be living in Seattle where he's close by so that you can reach him without such a long commute. Living out here is only making him isolated."
I let out a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have yelled at him in a hospital bed."
"He needed to hear it." Silas turns to face me, his expression intense in the dim light from the parking lot lamps. "You've been carrying him for years. That's not sustainable, Scout. That's not healthy. And it's not fair to you."
I know he's right the same way I know my mother gave everything until there was nothing left, until the MS took what remained. But the guilt sits heavy anyway, a familiar weight I don't know how to put down.
"What if he doesn't follow through?" My voice comes out small and uncertain. "What if he agrees now but changes his mind once we get him settled? What if I just made everything worse?"
"Then that's on him, not you." Silas reaches over and cups my face in his big, warm hand. "My mom was a terrible person, but she did teach me one thing. You can't save people who don't want to be saved. You can only save yourself."
The words hit something deep, something I've been trying to ignore.
I think about Enzo and all the years I spent trying to be enough, trying to make him love me the way I needed.
Trying to fix his moods, manage his temper, smooth over his rough edges until I was nothing but a tool for his comfort.
I think about my mother, pouring herself out for Dad and for us until the disease took what little was left.
I've been repeating this pattern without realizing it, living inside this wound.
"I don't want to be like my mom," I whisper.
"She disappeared into taking care of him and taking care of us.
And then she got sick and before I knew it she was just gone.
It was as though she never existed as her own person, only as what she could do for everyone else.
I feel like I'm failing my dad by not being as giving as my mom was. "
"You're not your mom." Silas's thumb brushes my cheek, gentle and certain. "You have other things going on. You're kind and wonderful, but you're also focused on Mobility Mondays and teaching yoga."
I close my eyes and let myself lean into his touch. When I open them again, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. There's something intense there, something hungry and tender at the same time that makes my breath catch in my throat.
"Thank you," I say. "For being here. And for driving me." I pause. "I guess thank you for everything, really."
He cuts me off with a kiss that's gentle and fierce all at once. His mouth tastes like coffee and something uniquely him. I melt into it without thinking. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine with our breath mingling in the small space between us.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmurs. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
The words settle in my chest, warm and sure.
We drive home as the sun rises, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that feel too beautiful for how exhausted I am.
I pull his hoodie tighter around myself, the one he gave me weeks ago that I never gave back.
It smells like him, with notes of cedar and clean soap and something indefinable that's just Silas. Wearing it feels like being held.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sable.
Sable
Just heard about Dad. Is he okay? Are you okay?
I stare at the message, then type with shaking fingers.
Me
He's going to be fine. I may have yelled at him.
The response is immediate.
Sable
Holy shit. Are you serious?
Me
Yeah. I couldn't watch him kill himself slowly anymore. Long story very short, he's moving to Seattle.
Three dots appear and disappear and appear again.
Sable: Can I call you when you're home? If we’re looking at housing, Dad has a lot of money left from Mom’s life insurance policy. Anything extra I can pick up.
Me
Okay. We can talk about that when I’m home.
Back at the condo, I collapse on the couch while Silas makes coffee in the kitchen. The familiar sounds of cabinets opening and the coffee maker gurgling are soothing and normal and grounding. When my phone rings, I answer immediately.
"Scout." Sable's voice sounds tight and wound up. "I'm so glad Dad's okay. And I'm proud of you for saying what needed to be said."
"I yelled at him in a hospital bed while he was bruised and broken. I'm an awful daughter."
"You're not awful. You told him the truth." I hear her breathing, careful and measured. "I should have done it years ago. I should have backed you up instead of making excuses about being too busy with work or too far away to help."
"Sable, you couldn't have known that this would happen. You're a very busy professional. It's not your fault your job is demanding. I could have taken a page from your book and learned to set healthy boundaries with Dad."
"You listen to me, Scout." Her voice cracks and breaks open.
"You think I have it together? You think I'm this perfect, successful person who knows what she's doing?
I cry in my car between sessions, Scout.
Half the time I don't believe my own advice.
I'm drowning too, just with better hair and a fancier degree. "
The admission knocks the air from my lungs. I've spent so many years comparing myself to Sable, beautiful and successful and confident Sable. She always seems to glide through life while I stumble and fall and scrape my knees bloody.
"I didn't know," I whisper.
"I know you didn't because I didn't want you to.
I can't have anyone see that I'm just as much of a mess as everyone else.
" Sable sniffles. "But seeing you finally set boundaries with Dad makes me realize how heavy this has been for both of us.
We've been carrying so much without asking for help because we thought we had to. "
Tears stream down my face again, but these feel different and cleaner somehow. "I thought I was the only one struggling."
"You never were. I just got really good at pretending." Her voice steadies and strengthens. "We'll help Dad together, okay? We'll find him a place, get him settled, make sure he follows through with therapy. But we'll do it as a team, okay? And we won't lose ourselves in the process."
"Okay," I manage. "We'll do it together."
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet of the living room wearing Silas's hoodie that swallows my frame while coffee cools in my hands.
I feel raw and exposed, like I've shed a skin I didn't know I was wearing.
I've been walking around with this weighted vest for so long that I forgot what it felt like to breathe normally.
Silas appears from the kitchen and sits beside me on the couch without a word. He doesn't ask if I'm okay or try to fix anything. He just pulls me against his chest and lets me cry into his shirt while his hand strokes my hair in slow, soothing motions.
"I like this hoodie on you," he murmurs eventually.
I huff a watery laugh against his chest. "It's basically a dress."
"I still like it." His arms tighten around me, solid and sure. "I love knowing you're wrapped up in something of mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should annoy me. It should trigger all my independence alarms and all my warnings about losing myself in someone else. Instead it makes me feel safe and claimed in a way that doesn't require me to disappear or demand I sacrifice who I am.
"We should figure out what to eat," I say. Neither of us moves, though.
"In a minute." He presses his lips to the top of my head, the gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "Just let me hold you first."
God, I think I'm in love with him.
I let myself be held and cared for. I rest against the solid wall of his chest while the morning light streams through the windows. His heartbeat stays steady under my ear, a rhythm I could get used to.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I stop carrying the weight of everyone else's world. I stop trying to fix what's broken in other people. I stop sacrificing myself on the altar of being needed.
I just let myself exist here in this moment, wrapped in Silas's hoodie and his arms. Being exactly who I am with all my messiness and anger and fear and hope tangled together becomes acceptable.