Chapter 15
Tessa woke before dawn and sat up in bed. She’d spent half the night mentally rehearsing what she needed to say to her father. The words had tumbled through her mind on an endless loop, sometimes clear and purposeful, other times tangled and inadequate.
She slipped out of bed and padded to the window. The snow had stopped sometime during the night, leaving a pristine blanket across the yard. The eastern sky held just a hint of pale light. Another day in Sweet River Falls. Another day of pretending everything was fine.
Except she couldn’t pretend anymore.
Beckett’s gentle suggestion last night about having an honest conversation with her father had settled deep inside her. One small thing. That’s what he’d called it, but it felt enormous. Necessary, but terrifying.
She dressed in jeans and a soft flannel shirt, then headed to the kitchen. To her surprise, her father was already there, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, staring out the window.
“Morning,” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen.
Stan turned, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Where’s Beckett?” She poured herself coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm mug.
“Garage. Said he wanted to finish that bookshelf he’s been working on.”
She nodded, taking a careful sip of her coffee. Perfect timing. Or maybe Beckett had sensed what was coming.
She took a deep breath. “Dad, can we talk?”
Something in her tone must have alerted him because his expression shifted, and a wariness entered his eyes. “About what?”
“About... us. About after Mom died.”
Stan’s fingers tightened around his mug. He looked away, back toward the window. “What’s there to talk about? It was a long time ago.”
She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “But it wasn’t just then, was it? It’s been our entire relationship since. We need to talk about why you pushed me so hard.”
Her father’s jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he might get up and leave the room, the way he used to whenever conversations veered toward anything emotional. But he stayed, though his gaze remained fixed on the yard outside.
“What do you mean, pushed you?”
Tessa forced herself to keep her voice steady. “Dad. The constant expectations. The way nothing was ever good enough. Straight As weren’t enough. Being top of my class wasn’t enough. Being a nurse wasn’t enough. It always had to be more.”
He shook his head slightly. “I wanted you to succeed.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she intended. “It wasn’t about success. It was about control.”
Her father’s eyes snapped to hers, a flash of something—Anger? Recognition?—crossing his face before his expression went neutral.
“After Mom died, everything changed. You changed. It was like... like you couldn’t handle the grief, so you channeled everything into making sure I was perfect.”
His fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit she’d forgotten about until this moment. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand. Because I’ve spent fifteen years trying to figure it out on my own, and all I know is that I left here because I couldn’t breathe anymore. Because nothing I did was ever enough for you.”
A long silence stretched between them. Outside, the sky had lightened to a pale blue, as sunlight began to glint off the snow. From somewhere distant, she could hear the rhythmic sound of Beckett’s sanding in the garage.
Finally, he set down his mug with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
The simple admission hung in the air between them.
“After your mother died,” he continued, his voice rougher than usual, “I was... lost. She was always the one who knew what to do and how to parent. How to love openly.” He swallowed hard. “All I knew was that the world was suddenly terrifying. That I could lose everything in an instant.”
She stayed silent, afraid that if she spoke, he might retreat back into himself.
“I couldn’t control what happened to your mother.
The cancer, the treatments that didn’t work, any of it.
” His eyes, when they met hers, held a vulnerability she’d never seen before.
“But I thought maybe I could control what happened to you. If you were prepared, if you were strong enough, smart enough, capable enough... maybe life wouldn’t hurt you the way it hurt her. The way losing her hurt me.”
The revelation settled over her like a physical weight. All these years, she’d thought his pushing came from disappointment, from her not measuring up. But it had been fear. Raw, unprocessed fear.
“Dad,” she said softly, “you can’t protect people from life.”
“I know that now. But back then, it was all I had. If I pushed you to excel, to be independent and strong, then maybe you’d be okay if something happened to me too.”
“But you pushed me away instead.”
He nodded, a small, pained movement. “I didn’t know how to do both. Didn’t know how to love you the way she would have and prepare you for a world that takes people too soon. So I focused on making you strong. And I lost sight of everything else.”
She felt a knot form in her throat. “I needed my dad. Not a drill sergeant.”
“I know.” His voice cracked slightly. “By the time I realized what was happening between us, you were already pulling away. And then you were gone.”
The kitchen fell silent again, the enormity of fifteen years of misunderstanding hanging between them.
She thought of all the holidays spent alone, the graduations where she’d scanned the audience hoping to see his face, and the nights in her apartment when she’d almost called but then set the phone down.
“I thought you were disappointed in me. That I wasn’t living up to some standard you had,” she finally said.
He shook his head, looking genuinely surprised. “Disappointed? Tessa, I’ve always been proud of you. Maybe too proud. You were so much like your mother. So smart and determined. I just wanted to make sure you had the strength I didn’t have when we lost her.”
“But you made me feel like nothing I did was ever enough.”
“Because I was terrified.” His admission came quietly. “Every time you achieved something, I thought, ‘This is good, but will it be enough to protect her?’ And the answer was always no, because nothing can really protect us from loss.”
She felt tears prick at her eyes. “So instead of dealing with your grief, you put all that fear on me.”
He looked away, shame evident in the slump of his shoulders. “I didn’t know how else to be. Your mother was always the heart of this family. Without her, I just... defaulted to what I knew. Structure. Discipline. Push forward and don’t look back.”
“It drove us apart.”
“Yes.” The simple acknowledgment seemed to deflate him further. “And by the time I realized what I’d done, you were gone, building your life in Denver without me.”
She thought about her life in Denver—the long shifts at the hospital, the apartment she barely spent time in, the colleagues she never quite connected with beyond work. Had she really built a life there? Or had she just been running, still trying to prove herself worthy of... something?
“I’ve been on medical leave,” she admitted. The words felt strange to say out loud. “That’s why I could come home when Fran told me what happened to you. I’m not... I’m not handling things well at work.”
Her father’s brow creased with concern. “What happened?”
“Panic attacks.” Saying it aloud still made her feel ashamed, as if admitting weakness. “I was in the middle of a trauma case and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Had to lock myself in a supply closet until it passed.”
“Oh, Tessa.” The genuine concern in his voice made her throat tighten again.
“It wasn’t the first time. Just the worst.” She stared down at her coffee, now gone cold. “I’ve been pushing myself so hard for so long, trying to be perfect, trying to prove... I don’t even know what anymore. And it all just crashed down.”
He reached across the table, hesitating before gently placing his hand over hers. The gesture was so unexpected, so unlike him, that she had to blink back tears.
“I did that to you,” he said quietly. “Made you think you had to be perfect.”
She turned her hand to grasp his. “We both did it. I internalized it. Kept pushing myself even when you weren’t there to push me anymore.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, the morning had fully arrived, and sunlight streamed through the window.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he finally said.
“I don’t either.” She offered a small, sad smile. “But maybe acknowledging it is a start.”
Her father nodded, squeezing her hand before releasing it. “For what it’s worth, I am proud of you. Not because of what you’ve accomplished, but because of who you are. I should have told you that more.”
“You never told me at all,” she said, but without the bitterness that would have colored the words even a few weeks ago.
“I know.” He looked genuinely regretful. “After your mother died, I thought showing emotion was a weakness. That if I let myself feel anything, I’d fall apart completely.”
“And now?”
He gestured vaguely around the kitchen. “Now I’m learning. Slowly. Having Beckett here... it’s been good. He’s teaching an old dog new tricks, I suppose.”
She thought about Beckett, out in the garage giving them space for this conversation. How he seemed to understand both of them, despite knowing them for such different lengths of time.
“He’s good at seeing people,” she said. “Really seeing them.”
He nodded. “That he is.” He looked at her curiously. “You two seem to be getting along better.”
“We are. He’s helped me see things differently.” She wasn’t ready to examine the feeling that spread through her at the thought of Beckett.
“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Tessa. I know I can’t make up for all those years, but I’d like to try to do better, if you’ll let me.”
The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache. “I’d like that too.”
“And maybe,” he added hesitantly, “you could stay a little longer? Not just because of my health, but because... well, it’s Christmas soon. And it would be nice to have you home.”
Home. The word hung in the air.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, not ready to commit but not wanting to refuse outright either.
He nodded, accepting her answer. “That’s fair.” He stood up, refilling his coffee mug. “I should probably check on Beckett, make sure he’s not freezing out there.”
Tessa watched him move toward the door, noting how much older he looked than when she’d left fifteen years ago. How much more vulnerable.
“Dad,” she called after him. He turned, eyebrows raised in question. “Thank you for talking about this.”
He gave a small nod, his eyes softer than she’d seen them in years. “Thank you for asking.”
After he left, Tessa remained at the table, letting the conversation settle around her. It wasn’t a perfect resolution. There were still years of hurt and misunderstanding between them. But it felt like a beginning, a clearing of old ground where something new might eventually grow.
She thought about what Beckett had said last night about taking life one small thing at a time. This conversation had been her small thing, and somehow, facing it had made the next steps seem a little less daunting.
Tessa stood and walked to the window, watching as her father crossed the yard to the garage.
She could see Beckett through the open door, looking up as Stan approached, his expression shifting from concentration to welcome.
The two men spoke briefly, then Beckett handed her father a piece of sandpaper, making room for him at the workbench.
The sight stirred something inside her—a recognition of how much had changed while she was gone, but also how much opportunity there might be in those changes. Her father was different now. She was different too. And maybe that meant they could find a new way forward together.
One small thing at a time, she reminded herself.
Today, it had been an honest conversation with her father.
Tomorrow, it might be something else entirely.
But for the first time in longer than she could remember, the future didn’t feel like a burden she had to perfectly prepare for.
Instead, it felt like a path with multiple possibilities, none of them requiring perfection.
She glanced out the window one more time. Her father and Beckett were working side by side now, the morning sun illuminating them in the open garage door. Two men at different stages of life, both carrying their own burdens, both finding some measure of peace in simple, productive work.
She smiled to herself. Perhaps there was something to learn there too. About healing. About second chances. About home.
She looked out the window once more. The morning was bright and sparkled off the icicles hanging from the eaves. And somewhere in the yard between the house and garage, in the space between her past and her uncertain future, she thought she might find her next small step forward.