Chapter 37- Oliver
It’s been three days since Ellie told me.
Three days since her voice cracked over the phone.
Three days since she whispered, “He’s leaving.”
Three days since I felt something inside me twist in a way I didn’t know it could.
I’ve been trying to give her space — not because I want to, but because I know she needs these last days with her dad. I know how close they are. I know what he means to her. I know how much this is hurting her, even if she’s trying to stay strong.
But God… I’m worried.
Not because she’s weak — she’s the strongest person I know — but because even strong people break when the foundation they’ve always had starts to shift.
And Gregory…
He’s her foundation.
He’s been her anchor, her home, her safe place.
He’s been the one constant in her life.
He’s been the person she orbits around.
And he’s been that for me too.
I’m not stupid — I know I’m not losing him the way she is. But the thought of him leaving hits me harder than I expected. He’s been like a dad to me. The kind of dad I always wished I had growing up. The kind of man I want to be someday.
And now he’s packing up his life to go take care of his mom.
It’s the right thing.
It’s the good thing.
It’s the kind of thing Gregory would do.
But it doesn’t make it easier.
I sit on my bed, staring at my phone, thumb hovering over Ellie’s name. I want to call her. I want to hear her voice. I want to tell her I’m here, that she doesn’t have to pretend she’s okay, that she doesn’t have to carry this alone.
But I also know she’s probably sitting with her dad right now.
Watching TV.
Talking.
Packing.
Trying to make the most of the time they have left.
And I don’t want to take a second of that away from her.
Still… the worry sits heavy in my chest.
I know Ellie.
I know the way she loves.
I know the way she feels things — deeply, quietly, all at once.
She’s going to be strong for her dad.
She’s going to smile for him.
She’s going to say she’s okay.
And then she’s going to break when she’s alone.
And I hate that I can’t stop it.
I run a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. “God, Ellie…”
I wish I could take this from her.
I wish I could make it easier.
I wish I could fix it.
But I can’t.
All I can do is be here.
All I can do is wait.
All I can do is love her through it.
My phone buzzes suddenly, and my heart jumps — but it’s not Ellie.
It’s her dad.
A text from Gregory.
Gregory: Hey son, could you come by tomorrow, please? I need your help with something.
My chest tightens.
He called me son .
He always does. And it hits different now.
I swallow hard and type back:
Oliver: Of course. I’ll be there.
I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling, letting the weight of everything settle.
Ellie’s hurting.
Gregory’s leaving.
And I’m caught somewhere in the middle — wanting to be strong for both of them, terrified of what this change will do to her, to us, to everything.
But one thing I know for sure:
I’m not going anywhere.
Not now.
Not after he leaves.
Not ever.
Ellie’s going to feel sad — I know that. She’s going to feel lost — I know that too. But she won’t be alone.
Not as long as I’m here.
The next day — at Ellie’s house
I pull into Ellie’s driveway just after noon, the sun high but the air feeling heavier than usual. Gregory texted me earlier asking for help, but honestly… I didn’t need a reason to come. I’ve been thinking about Ellie nonstop.
I knock once before letting myself in — something Gregory has always told me I’m allowed to do — and the moment I step inside, I see her.
And my heart drops.
Ellie’s sitting at the kitchen table, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of her, her hair pulled into a messy bun that looks like she didn’t even try. But it’s her eyes that hit me the hardest.
They’re tired.
Red around the edges.
A little swollen.
Like she’s been crying at night and pretending she hasn’t.
She looks up when she hears me, forcing a small smile. “Hey.”
God, she’s trying so hard to be okay.
I walk toward her slowly, taking in every detail — the way she fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater, the way she avoids eye contact for a second too long, the way her shoulders slump like she’s carrying something too heavy.
“Ellie…” I say softly.
She straightens a little. “I’m fine. Really.”
But I know her.
I know her heart.
I know the way she hides her pain behind soft smiles and quiet strength.
And she is not fine.
I step closer, gently cupping her face with both hands. Her eyes flutter shut like she’s been waiting for someone to touch her, to hold her, to tell her she doesn’t have to pretend.
“Everything is going to be okay, my beautiful,” I whisper, brushing my thumb under her eye. “I promise.”
Her breath catches, and she leans into my touch like she’s been holding herself together for too long.
“You didn’t leave me when I was at my lowest,” I continue, my voice thick. “And I will do the same. I’ll take care of you.”
Her lips tremble, and she lets out a shaky exhale — the kind that tells me she’s been trying not to break.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, her forehead pressed against my chest. She melts into me instantly, her hands gripping the back of my shirt like she needs something solid to hold onto.
“I’m right here,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods against me, but I can feel the sadness in the way she clings to me, the way her breath stutters, the way her body softens like she’s finally letting herself rest for a moment.
We stay like that for a long time — just breathing, just holding, just existing in the same quiet ache.
Then the front door opens.
“Oliver?” Gregory calls out.
Ellie pulls back slowly, wiping her eyes even though she doesn’t need to hide from me. I give her a soft smile before turning toward the hallway.
Gregory steps into the kitchen holding a box, his expression warm but tired. “Hey son. Glad you’re here.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you, sir. What do you need help with?”
He gestures toward the living room. “Just some things I need to sort through. Figured you could help me lift the heavier stuff.”
Gregory leads me into the living room where a few half-filled boxes sit open on the floor. Some are neatly organized. Others look like he started packing, stopped, stared at the items for too long, and then walked away.
He gestures toward a stack of books. “Think you can help me sort these? Some I’m taking, some I’m leaving for Ellie.”
I nod and kneel beside the box. “Yeah. Of course.”
For a few minutes, we work in silence — the kind of silence that isn’t awkward, just heavy. Gregory picks up a photo frame, stares at it for a long moment, then sets it gently into the “take” pile.
I glance at him. His jaw is tight. His eyes are glossy. He’s trying so hard to stay composed.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He exhales through his nose, a tired sound. “I will be.”
I nod, giving him space.
We keep packing — sweaters, tools, old notebooks, a few things wrapped in newspaper. Every item feels like a piece of his life he’s slowly detaching from this house.
After a while, he sits back on his heels and rubs his hands together. “This is harder than I thought.”
I swallow. “Yeah. I can imagine.”
He looks at me then — really looks — and there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Something vulnerable. Something fatherly.
“Oliver,” he says softly, “I’m worried about her.”
My chest tightens. “I know.”
“She’s trying to be strong,” he continues, voice low. “For me. For herself. But I can see it. She’s hurting.”
I nod, because I see it too. I feel it.
Gregory’s voice cracks just a little. “She’s my little girl. My whole world. And I hate that I’m leaving her like this.”
“You’re not leaving her,” I say gently. “You’re doing what you have to do. And she knows that.”
He nods, but his eyes drop to the floor. “Still hurts.”
I sit beside him, leaning my back against the couch. “She’s going to be okay. She’s strong. And she’s not alone.”
He looks at me again — this time with something like gratitude.
“I know,” he says quietly. “Because she has you.”
The words hit me harder than I expect.
He continues, voice steady but soft. “You’ve been good to her. Patient. Kind. You love her in a way that makes her feel safe. I see that.”
My throat tightens.
“And I need to know,” he says, “that when I’m gone… you’ll be there for her. Not to replace me. Not to fix everything. Just… to be her person.”
I nod immediately. “I will. I promise.”
He studies me for a moment, then gives a small, emotional smile. “I believe you.”
We sit there in silence again — but this time, it’s different.
Not heavy.
Not sad.
Just… understanding.
After a moment, Gregory pats my shoulder. “Alright, son. Let’s finish these boxes.”
And we do — side by side, quietly, carefully — two men who love the same girl more than anything, both trying to be strong for her in their own way.
After Gregory and I finish packing the last box, he gives me a tired but grateful smile and excuses himself to make lunch. I nod, but my eyes drift down the hallway — toward Ellie’s room.
She tries to smile. “Hey.”
I walk in slowly, closing the door behind me. “Hey, beautiful.”
I sit beside her on the bed, close enough that our knees touch. “Ellie…”
She inhales sharply, like she’s been holding her breath for days. “I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need to get used to it.”
Her voice wobbles.
She looks away quickly, blinking fast, trying to swallow the sadness before it spills out.
I gently take her chin and turn her face toward me. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Her eyes fill instantly.
And then she whispers it — the truth she’s been trying so hard to hide.
“I’m sad, Oliver.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
I pull her into my arms without hesitation, holding her tight against my chest. She melts into me, her fingers gripping my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.
“I know you are,” I whisper into her hair. “And it’s okay.”
She lets out a shaky breath, her forehead pressed against my collarbone. “I know he has to go. I know it’s the right thing. But… it still hurts.”
“I know,” I murmur, rubbing slow circles on her back. “Of course it does.”
She sniffles softly. “But I’ll be okay. I will. I just… need time.”
I kiss the top of her head, lingering there. “Everything is going to be okay, my beautiful. I promise.”
Ellie takes a shaky breath, her fingers still curled in the fabric of my shirt. She leans back just enough to look at me, her eyes soft and tired.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here. For… everything.”
My chest tightens. “Always.”
She nods, but her eyelids are already drooping, the exhaustion finally catching up to her now that she’s let herself feel something. She shifts closer, resting her head on my shoulder, her body relaxing against mine like she’s been holding herself up for days.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
She’s asleep.
I stay still, barely daring to move, watching her chest rise and fall. She looks so peaceful like this — fragile, but safe. Safe with me.
After a while, I gently ease her down onto the bed, careful not to wake her. I pull the blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it around her the way Gregory always does.
She doesn’t stir.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and whisper, “I’m right here, beautiful.”
Then I slip out of her room, closing the door softly behind me.
Gregory is standing in the hallway, waiting. The moment he sees me, I give him a small nod.
“She fell asleep,” I say quietly.
He exhales — a long, shaky breath — and before I can react, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug.
A real hug.
A father hug.
A hug that feels like he needed it more than I did.
I freeze for a second, surprised, then hug him back.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “For being here for her. For loving her the way you do.”
I swallow hard. “Of course. I care about her. A lot.”
He pulls back, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes glossy but warm. “You’re a good man, Oliver. I’m grateful she has you.”
The words hit me deeper than I expect.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Gregory pats my arm gently. “Go home, son. Get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Goodnight.”
I walk out to my car, the cool evening air brushing against my face. As I open the door, I glance back at the house — the warm light glowing through Ellie’s window, the home that’s always felt like a second home to me.
And I make myself another silent promise:
I’ll be here.
For her.
For him.
For all of it.
No matter what.