Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
GENEVIEVE
The GPS leads me through a neighborhood lined with cracked sidewalks and sagging fences, the kind of place that makes me grateful for the quiet familiarity of Sycamore Falls. Here, on the outskirts of Reno, the air feels heavier, thick with regret and memories that don’t belong to me but somehow still weigh me down.
With every turn, doubt gnaws at me. Maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe I should have at least told someone where I was going. Maybe some doors are better left closed. This is definitely one of my more impulsive decisions, one made during a moment of stubborn determination.
I’m not sure what I hope to get out of it. Closure, maybe. Or confirmation that I’m doing the right thing by keeping my distance from Finn.
A few minutes later, I pull up to the address the private investigator gave me. I wasn’t sure what I expected. Something empty and forgotten, like how I felt when he left.
And that’s exactly what the single-story house looks like. The lawn is overgrown, the paint peeling, the front yard littered with cigarette butts.
I grip the steering wheel, my fingers pressing into the worn leather.
I should turn around. Forget I ever came here.
Forget him .
But I can’t. I need to do this. For myself.
I open the car door and step onto the uneven pavement on unsteady legs. Each step along the weed-choked pathway feels heavier than the last. When I reach the front door, my pulse skyrockets and I hesitate, my knuckles hovering over the faded wood. Before I can stop myself, I knock and hold my breath, only to be met with silence.
Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. A sign I’m not meant to be here. Not meant to do this.
Just when I’m about to retreat, the door swings open, and I’m face-to-face with the same man who came to fix the HVAC at the library.
My father.
Air lodges in my throat as I stare at him, unsure what to say.
What do you say to the man who disappeared from your life when you were six? Who became a ghost?
“Can I help you?” he asks somewhat guardedly. Recognition flickers in his gaze, yet there’s no warmth. No relief.
No love.
“My name’s Genevieve Thomas,” I finally say, my voice steady, even as my stomach twists. “We met at the library.”
“I remember.”
“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. I just…” I blow out a shaky breath. “I have to know.”
His expression shifts, and he rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You want to know if I know who you are… Other than the librarian.”
I square my shoulders, trying to exude confidence, despite feeling small. “Yes.”
A painful silence settles between us as I lock my eyes on his. On eyes that look exactly like mine. I always wondered where I got mine from. Claire has my mother’s shade of green. I’m the only one with the purple-gray hue.
Now I know, because the shade and shape of my eyes are an exact match to his.
Finally, he pushes out a long sigh and steps back, holding the door open. “You want to come in?”
Every cell in my body warns against this. But I walk inside anyway.
The scent of stale beer and fried food lingers in the air. The walls are lined with mounted deer heads, fishing trophies, and framed pictures of hunting trips.
But there are no family photos.
No evidence he ever had daughters.
No sign we ever existed.
Something in my chest tightens. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe some proof he missed us. That he cared. That leaving was hard for him. That he’s regretted it every day since.
But there’s nothing other than his love of his hobbies.
“You’re Judy’s kid,” he cuts through, yanking me out of my thoughts.
His statement is like a slap. A punch to the gut.
Not my kid. Judy’s kid. Like I was never his. Like his DNA doesn’t run through me.
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat, forcing myself to stand taller. “I’m your kid, too.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t look like a kid to me.”
“I’m still your offspring,” I retort, my voice sharper now. “I’m still half of you, in case you’ve forgotten.”
He shifts his weight, obviously uncomfortable with my sudden reappearance in his life. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want to know why.” The words spill out before I can stop them, my pulse a frantic beat beneath my skin. “You had a family. And you just…walked away?”
His exhale is long and slow. “It wasn’t about you.”
“Not about me?” A cold, sharp laugh bubbles up from my throat. “You abandoned your family. You abandoned me .”
“I had my reasons.” His eyes flicker toward the door, like he’s already planning his escape.
I step closer, not letting him avoid me like he has most of my life. “Then tell me what those were, because I’ve spent years trying to figure them out. I thought maybe if I was good enough, if I kept my room spotless, if I got straight A’s, if I never caused problems, you’d come back. You’d realize I was worth staying for.” My voice cracks, but I push through. “But you didn’t. And now you’re standing here telling me it wasn’t about me? Do you have any idea how much easier it would have been if I could have believed that? Every single day, I watched other kids with their dads and wondered what made them special. What made them better than me. But you… You didn’t even try.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like that one decision had no impact on anyone. “Your mom and me… We weren’t good together. It was easier this way.”
His statement slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
It was easier .
I’ve said the same thing myself dozens of times.
I married Ethan because I thought it would be easier than risking my heart on real love.
I decided to have a baby on my own because I thought it would be easier than trusting someone to stay.
I pushed Finn away because I thought it would be easier than admitting the truth.
But as I stand here, staring at a man who has spent his whole life choosing easy, I see it for what it really is.
This isn’t easy. This is empty .
A house filled with trophies, not people. A life measured in taxidermy and fishing trips, not love. A man alone because it was easier to walk away than to stay and fight.
Is this my future?
Is this what I’ve been running toward?
I’ve repeatedly told myself it’s easier to keep people at a distance. That love doesn’t last. That if I never rely on anyone, I’ll never be hurt the way this man hurt me.
But I now realize it was merely a lie I said to make myself feel better.
The real risk isn’t loving someone.
It’s waking up one day and realizing I let something real slip through my fingers because I was too afraid to fight for it.
I’m not going to do that anymore.
I’m not going to turn into this man.
I’m not going to take the easy way. Not anymore.
Squaring my shoulders, I level him with a stare. “I’d take real over easy any day.”
Then I turn and walk away, leaving him and the lie I’ve been telling myself behind.