Chapter 11 The Confession
~Caden~
Stillness embraced me.
It was so quiet when I woke up—and not the good kind.
Not the kind where the house is still because everyone's sleeping in, and I get a moment to breathe before the chaos of the day starts.
No. This kind of silence was louder. Emptier.
It felt like absence. Like grief. Like the moment you realize something sacred has left the room and you don't know when, or if, it's coming back.
Her side of the bed was still made—all except for her pillow, which I had hugged to myself nightly in her absence.
Last night, I realized her pillow no longer smelled like her, so I stole the one off the guest bed where she was sleeping.
They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone.
Who would have thought scent was one of those things that lingered—along with the pain from its absence.
I sat up and stared down at my feet for a while. Poised on the edge of the bed, I couldn't make myself stand. Rubbing my face, my hand came away wet—tears? I hadn't even realized I was crying.
My stomach clenched as if I'd been punched. It was her birthday—and she was alone. I knew she was in Miami since her travel confirmation emails came to our shared email account. I wasn't sure why she picked Miami, but I couldn’t help but hope she was safe. Every time she charged something expensive on our cards, we both got notifications as part of our bank’s settings.
And with every notification, I found myself relieved to know that she was safe.
I threw on a hoodie and walked downstairs, grabbing coffee more for the ritual than anything else. I kept it black, seeing as the bitterness suited me this morning. It's going to be a busy day for me, and I need to get moving. No more wallowing. Real change had to happen.
I glanced up the stairs—Macy. Here for the weekends, I knew she was still sleeping. I hadn't told her much—just that Felicity was out of town for the weekend. But now, thinking about the purse, about what it symbolized, I knew I couldn't keep her in the dark.
It wasn't fair. To Felicity. Or to Macy.
As I walked up the stairs, my phone pinged with a text.
Lauren: Jessica called again with some questions.
Damn it. I really don't have time for this today. Resolved to get more details later, I shot off a quick note to Lauren telling her we could talk through when I was back in the office.
Finishing my ascent, I stopped at Macy's door and knocked lightly. "Mace? You up?"
A soft murmur from inside, then, "Yeah."
"Can I come in?"
Again, "Yeah." She had the crack-of-sleep voice and that faint edge of attitude I've come to expect from an almost-twelve-year-old.
I cracked the door open, the hinges protesting with a soft whine.
Macy lay curled like a comma in her unmade bed, one pale leg twisted in the lavender comforter that had slipped halfway to the floor.
Her chestnut hair splayed across the pillow in wild tangles, and the blue glow of her phone cast eerie shadows across her face, illuminating the dark circles beneath her eyes.
"Sleep okay?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She shrugged without looking up, her thumb still scrolling mindlessly. "I guess. Tired still." Her voice was sandpaper-rough with sleep.
I sat on the edge of her bed and took a breath.
"I want to talk to you about something."
Still scrolling, "okay."
"It's important. Can I get your attention?"
She looked up from her phone. "Everything okay, Dad?"
"Yes, and no, honey. I want to talk to you about the purse you found in your closet."
Macy sat up and looked at me. "Okay."
I blew out a breath, feeling my shoulders sag with the weight of my confession.
The morning light slanted through Macy's curtains, illuminating dust motes that danced between us.
My coffee sat cooling on her nightstand, forgotten.
Damn, this was hard. Necessary, but so hard.
How do you find the words to tell your daughter you've been a complete moron? That you've hurt someone you both love?
"You know it’s Felicity's birthday."
"Yeah, Dad, duh."
"Okay, well, it's a big birthday. She turns 40 today."
"I know, Dad. I thought this was about the purse?" She says with eyes open, genuinely confused. Which tells me I'm doing this all wrong.
"Okay, so it's her birthday. Remember when you found the purse?" At her nod, I continued. "It was hidden in the back of your closet. You only found it while looking for your ballet shoes, right?"
"Yeah, Dad. Wha—" Macy's eyes widened until I could see white all around her irises, her mouth dropping open in slow motion. "Oh my God—"
"Macy -"
"OH MY GOD. Oh my God, Dad. No! Oh my God!
!!!" Her hands flew to her mouth, fingers splayed across her cheeks, nails digging into skin that had gone from sleepy-pink to ghostly pale in seconds.
"Dad," she whispered through trembling fingers, "are you about to tell me that was Felicity's birthday gift? "
"Yes, honey. It was."
Eyes starting to water, she leaned forward. "Oh. I guess... I didn't even think it was Felicity's? Oh dad. It was in my—she always uses a black purse—dad! Why was it in my closet??"
"Sweetheart, it's entirely my fault." Inching closer to her, I reached out to her shoulder.
"I thought your closet was a good hiding spot.
I was really dumb when I hid it. I just—when you saw it, you were so happy holding it, thinking it was for you.
I completely failed and, instead of telling you the truth, I said yes. "
Macy was full-on crying now, hands covering her face.
"I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean for this to happen.” I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the weight of my mistake like a stone in my chest. “It was a gift she had asked for, something she actually designed and picked out her—"
At that, her face shot up. "What?! You mean she knew what she was getting?"
"Yes honey. She did."
"But Dad, that means she knows I have it! She saw me with it that night!" Yelling now, she jumped up from her bed. "Why did you let me take it?"
"Honey, I—"
"Why did you let me think it was mine? Let Felicity see me wearing it?! Dad! She knows I have it! She knows! I thanked her for it!"
"I know, honey, that's why I—"
"Dad! She must be so upset! Is that why she is gone? Did she leave because of me?" Macy's tears started to flow again.
"No honey. Not you. She is not mad at you. Please don't worry about that."
"How can I not? Oh my God, Dad. I don't know what—how do I—? What do I—? What do I do? I feel horrible!"
She crumpled to the floor. Damn. I had no idea that she would react like this.
I'm fucking speechless. Frozen. After a beat, I sat on the floor next to her and put my arm around her shoulder.
"I'm really sorry, honey. I messed up. Now I realize that in trying to avoid hurting you when you loved the purse so much, I caused a bigger problem and I hurt Felicity.
When she saw you with it, and she learned what I'd done, it broke her heart.
She was sad because my actions showed her how little attention I'd paid to something that mattered to her. "
Macy turned her body and buried her head in my chest. "Daddy. I'm so sorry."
My gut twisted. Even now, she was worried about someone else's feelings.
She's better than I've been. "No, sweetheart.
This is not on you. Like I said, honey—this is all on me.
You didn't do anything wrong. I should've told you.
I should never have given it to you in the first place.
You know, when I told Felicity I would get it back from you, she was more worried about how you would feel in that moment. "
Her voice muffled, "Really?"
"Mmhmm. Yes—she didn't want me to take back something that you believed I'd given you.” I stroked her tangled morning hair, noticing how much longer it had grown. “I realize now that I should have just come to you right then and been honest—I mean, I should have never done it in the first place, but once I had, I should have just talked to you.” My voice caught slightly, and I cleared my throat. “I don’t think—I don’t think I gave you enough credit. You’re growing up, and clearly I’ve missed a lot.
” I pulled back just enough to look into her reddened eyes, seeing Jessica's features reflected there, but something uniquely Macy too. “I’m really sorry, honey."
Her fingers twisted at the edge of her shirt, pulling the worn cotton into a tight spiral until her knuckles blanched white.
She stared down at the floor, her voice small but steady.
"Yeah dad. You should have told me." She swallowed hard, a tear tracking down her flushed cheek.
"Daddy, I love Felicity. She always makes time for me, even when she's tired after work—like when she helped me with my science project until midnight when it was due on Monday and Mom forgot to get the stuff to help me.
I don't want her to be hurt because of something I did. "
"I know, sweetheart. And I'm going to make this right. Not just with her. But with you too. I don't know how yet, but I know that talking to you was my first step."
She was quiet for a moment longer, then looked up at me with soft, thoughtful eyes. "Can I help you figure out what to do to make it up to her?"
I blinked. "You want to help?"
She nodded. "But you have to promise not to mess it up."
Despite everything, I smiled. "Deal."
And for the first time in days, I felt the smallest flicker of hope.