11. Ivy #2
"Rest." He laughed bitterly. "How am I supposed to rest when every time I close my eyes, I see her getting worse? When I wake up in a panic, checking to make sure she's still breathing?"
"Dad…" I sighed and let my shoulders drop. That fear was too real for me to know how to answer it.
"Hard to rest when my daughter keeps lying to me." The words came out sharp, defensive. "All these secrets you're keeping, Ivy. Do you think I'm blind?"
I could have gotten defensive, could have deflected or made excuses. Instead, I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened at first, then collapsed against me, his shoulders shaking.
"I'm so scared," he whispered into my hair. "I can't lose her, Ivy. All I ever wanted was to grow old with that woman. To sit on the porch when we're eighty and watch our grandchildren play in the yard."
My throat tightened. "You're not going to lose her. Mom's a fighter."
"But what if I do? What if this is all the time we get?" His voice cracked. "I don't know how to do this without her."
"You won't have to," I said firmly, though my own fear echoed his. "And even if… even if the worst happens, you won't be alone. You'll have me, and the kids, and all the people who love you."
He pulled back, wiping at his eyes. "It's good to talk about it, I guess. I just… I feel so helpless."
"Maybe you should reach out to your friends. Nick, or some of the guys from the club. Don't try to carry this alone."
His expression shifted, grief giving way to something harder. The change was sudden and unsettling, like watching storm clouds roll across a clear sky. "My friends. Right. Speaking of which, why do my grandchildren look exactly like Duncan Walsh?"
It felt like he had sucker punched me, like the question had stolen my breath and replaced it with smoke.
My breath caught in my throat, and I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself.
All the warmth from the evening, all the hope I'd been building, crumbled in an instant.
I fought to keep my expression neutral, even as my pulse skyrocketed and my mind raced for an answer that wouldn't be an outright lie.
"Dad, you're exhausted and stressed. Your imagination is running wild." The words felt like ash in my mouth, each one a betrayal of the honesty I'd just shared with Duncan under the apple tree.
"Is it? Because I've been thinking about it for weeks, and those kids have his eyes, Ivy.
His jawline. Hell, Elena even has that stubborn chin dimple he gets when he's concentrating.
" His voice grew stronger, more certain.
"I'm not imagining this. I've known Duncan for twenty years. I know what he looks like."
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it.
The hallway felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in around us.
"You're seeing things that aren't there because you're grieving," I said carefully, hating myself for the half-truth.
"Right now, we need to focus on Mom. She needs us both present and united, not distracted by… fantasies."
"Fantasies." He repeated the word slowly, as if tasting it. "Is that what you're calling them?"
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing my words against his suspicions. Finally, he nodded, though the doubt remained in his eyes.
"You're right. Your mother comes first." He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow's another long day."
I watched him disappear into his bedroom, my heart still hammering against my ribs, driving into the bone like a chisel eking away at my soul. How much longer could I keep deflecting? How many more near-misses before the truth came tumbling out?
In my own room, I didn't bother changing clothes. I simply collapsed onto the bed fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling as my mind raced. The events of the evening played on repeat—Duncan's hands on my skin, his whispered confessions, Mom's gentle wisdom, Dad's heartbreak and mounting suspicion.
The familiar space of my childhood bedroom felt surreal after everything that had happened.
The same pale yellow walls, the same white furniture I'd picked out when I was sixteen and thought I knew everything about the world.
The woman who had made those choices felt like a stranger now, someone naive and sheltered who had no idea what was coming for her.
I rolled onto my side, pulling a pillow against my chest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities for everything to fall apart.
Duncan would expect answers I wasn't ready to give.
Dad would keep watching, keep questioning.
Mom would continue her battle against a disease that didn't care about anyone's plans or dreams.
But beneath all the fear and uncertainty, there was something else—a spark of hope I hadn't felt in years. For the first time since leaving Boston, I wasn't facing the future alone. Whatever happened next, Duncan was in it with me. That had to count for something.