19. Jessika
NINETEEN
JESSIKA
The next morning, Nova came downstairs looking like she hadn't slept.
Not tired.
Mad.
There was a difference.
She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet harder than necessary and dumped cereal into it. Milk splashed across the counter.
I watched her for a moment.
"Everything okay?" I asked carefully.
"Fine."
The word came out clipped.
Sharp.
The way teenagers say it when they're absolutely not fine.
I poured myself coffee.
"Nova—"
"Was Grant here last night?"
I froze.
The question wasn't casual.
It wasn't curious.
It was an accusation.
"Yes," I said.
She laughed once.
A short, bitter sound.
"Of course he was."
My stomach tightened.
"Nova."
"No, it's fine." She shoved a spoon into her cereal. "Everybody keeps acting like I'm a little kid."
"Nobody thinks that."
"Really?" Her eyes snapped up to mine. "Because I heard you."
The room went quiet.
"He was just helping with the case."
"Mom."
The single word carried enough disbelief to make me flinch.
I set my mug down.
"Grant and I have been spending time together."
"Yeah. I know."
"Nova—"
"No, I know." Her voice cracked. "I see the way you look at him."
The hurt in her face hit me harder than anger ever could.
"I see how he looks at you too."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
"How long?" she demanded.
"It isn't what you think."
"That's not an answer."
"Nova."
"How long?"
I rubbed my forehead.
"A little while."
She stared at me.
Then shook her head.
Unbelievable.
Like I somehow confirmed her worst fears.
"You always do this."
"What?"
"You pick them."
The words landed like a slap.
My chest tightened.
"That isn't fair."
"Isn't it?"
Tears were gathering in her eyes now.
Angry tears.
The kind she hated anyone seeing.
"Dad."
The word came out small.
"Then Grant."
"Nova, your father and I divorced because?—"
"I know why you divorced."
She stood so fast the stool nearly tipped over.
"But every time some guy shows up, everything changes."
"Nothing is changing."
"Yes it is!"
The shout echoed through the kitchen.
"I finally got you back after the divorce. We moved here. We started over."
Her voice broke.
"And now you're doing it again."
My heart cracked clean in half.
"I'm not choosing Grant over you."
"That's what everybody says."
She wiped at her eyes furiously.
"You think I don't notice? You think I don't see how happy you are when he's around?"
I couldn't answer.
Because she was right.
I was happy.
And somehow that made her feel abandoned.
"You know what scares me?" she whispered.
I shook my head.
"One day he'll leave too."
The anger vanished.
Just like that.
Leaving only fear.
Raw and exposed.
"And then you'll be sad again."
I crossed the kitchen before she could move away.
Pulled her into my arms.
At first she resisted.
Then she folded.
Still crying.
Still angry.
Still thirteen.
"I love you more than anyone," I whispered.
She buried her face in my shoulder.
"You better."
The words came out muffled.
But I heard them.
Every single one.
And standing there holding my daughter, I realized this wasn't really about Grant.
It was about every person who had ever left her.
And whether she believed I would be next.