Twenty Levi
I lay on the couch, one arm draped over my eyes, the other gripping the phone tight against my ear. The house is too quiet—oppressive, almost. It used to feel peaceful here, like the stillness was something I could sink into after a long day. Now, it just feels empty, like it’s echoing with the silence of everything I’m trying not to think about.
The phone rings in my ear, and I feel my chest tighten, my heart beating louder than it should. Each ring drags out longer than the last, stretching time until it’s unbearable. Dad never takes this long to answer, but maybe that’s just my nerves, turning every second into an eternity. I’ve been running this conversation through my head for days, but none of the words seem to fit. How do you tell someone you’re terrified of losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you?
The line clicks, and I hear Dad’s familiar voice.
“Hey bud. How’s it goin’?”
His voice is warm, steady, the kind of comfort that makes you think everything’s going to be okay, even when you’re drowning in doubt. I’ve always admired that about him—how no matter what’s happening, he’s got this way of making it seem manageable. Right now, I need that more than ever.
“Hey, Dad,”
I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
There’s a pause, and I know he’s already picking up on the tension in my voice.
“What’s on your mind, Son?”
I smile a little at how well he knows me, but it fades fast. I sink deeper into the couch, staring up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words.
“It’s Sunny.”
Another pause. It’s a different kind of silence now, the kind that says he’s listening, waiting for me to figure out how to say what’s weighing me down. Dad’s always been good at that—giving me the space to work through things at my own pace.
“I don’t know what to do,”
I admit, my voice low, heavy with everything I’ve been holding in.
“She’s…her work placement’s over, and now she has to go back to school. She keeps trying to talk about leaving, but I—”
My voice falters.
“I can’t talk about it, Dad. Every time she brings it up, I change the subject, push it away. I can’t stand the thought of her leaving.”
There’s a tightness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe, I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, like that’ll somehow ease the ache. “I love her, Dad. More than I’ve loved any other girl. But I can’t ask her to stay, even if that’s what I want more than anything in the world.”
The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—heavier, like Dad’s weighing his words carefully. I sit up, elbows on my knees, staring at the worn wood floor beneath me. The weight of what I’m feeling is crushing, and I don’t know how to carry it much longer.
“I’m scared, we agreed to have some fun, no strings attached. I don’t want to be the one who oversteps that rule.”
I finally admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “And if I do overstep, what if she stays because it’s what I want, and then…what if she regrets it? What if I’m the reason she doesn’t get to chase her dreams, live her life? I can’t be the thing that holds her back, Dad. She’s got too much ahead of her.”
My voice cracks, and I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. Every time I look at her, I see that spark in her eyes—the one that lights up when she talks about her future, about the things she wants to do. I’m terrified that by loving her, I’m chaining her to a life she wasn’t meant to have.
Dad’s quiet, longer than I’m used to, and I can almost hear him thinking, trying to find the right way to tell me what I already know deep down. I shift on the couch, gripping the phone, bracing myself.
“You love her,”
he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s a weight to it. “And I know when you love someone, you love deep. But Levi… love isn’t about keeping someone where you want them. It’s about letting them be who they’re meant to be. Sometimes, that means letting them go.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, the air knocked right out of me. I rub a hand over my face, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
“But what if she leaves and doesn’t come back? What if I lose her for good?”
“That’s the risk,”
Dad says gently, his voice full of understanding. “But love isn’t about keeping someone tied to you because you’re afraid of losing them. It’s about trusting them to find their way, trusting that if what you have is real, it’ll stand the test of time. And distance.”
His words hit hard, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking. I’ve been so focused on the fear of losing her, of watching her walk away, that I haven’t stopped to consider that maybe she needs to go. Maybe I’m part of her story, but not the whole of it.
Dad sighs, and his voice changes, gets even softer.
“Son, I know you’re scared. What happened with Taylor…”
He trails off, and I don’t need him to finish. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
Taylor, with her empty promises, her betrayal. I can still remember the way that tore through me. She left me wrecked, and I’m not sure I ever really put the pieces back together.
“I get why you’re afraid,”
he continues, “why you’re keeping her at arm’s length. Taylor wasn’t who you thought she was, but Sunny isn’t Taylor. And if you let your past make all your decisions for you… well, you might end up losing the best thing that ever came into your life.”
I close my eyes, the tightness in my chest unbearable.
“Levi, I know it’s scary to put your heart on the line again. But if you don’t, you’ll end up living a life full of regrets. And I don’t think that’s what you want.”
I let his words sink in. There’s a part of me that knows he’s right—that I can’t keep avoiding the conversation, that I need to let her decide for herself. But the thought of watching her pack up and leave, of not having her here with me…it’s a kind of pain I’m not sure I’m ready to face.
“You’re right,”
I say after a long pause, I lean back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling again, my chest still tight but not suffocating. There’s a comfort in his words, in knowing that love doesn’t have to be about holding on too tight. It’s about letting go and trusting that if it’s real, it’ll come back.
“Thanks, Dad,”
I murmur, the words barely loud enough to hear.
“It’ll be okay, son,”
he says, and there’s a softness in his voice that tells me he understands just how hard this is. “Just trust her. And trust yourself.”
When I hang up, the house feels quiet again, but it’s different now. The weight is still there, but it’s lighter, more bearable. I lay back down, letting my arm drape over my eyes once more, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest.
I know what I have to do. I can’t keep avoiding the conversation, can’t keep changing the subject every time she brings up leaving. I have to let her go, let her figure out what she really wants. And if I’m part of that future, then she’ll come back.
But God, the thought of watching her walk away…it feels like my heart is being ripped in two.
I close my eyes, listening to the silence of the house, trying to convince myself that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. That if we’re meant to be, she’ll find her way back to me.
God, I hope she finds her way back to me.