Chapter 39- Ellie
The morning feels wrong.
Not loud.
Not quiet.
Just… wrong.
Like the house knows what’s happening today.
Like the walls are holding their breath.
Like everything is waiting for the moment we’ve been trying not to think about.
I wake up before my alarm — before the sun is fully up — and for a second, I forget. For a second, everything feels normal. For a second, I think I’ll walk into the kitchen and see Dad making coffee, humming to himself, smiling at me like he always does.
But then the truth hits me.
Today is the day.
My chest tightens, but it doesn’t crush me the way it did before. I’ve cried so much these past few days that now the sadness feels softer. Not gone — just… settled. Like a weight I’ve learned how to carry.
I get dressed slowly, my hands shaking just a little, and when I walk into the kitchen, Dad is already there.
He’s sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, staring at nothing, his suitcase by the door.
He looks up when he hears me.
And he smiles.
A real smile.
A soft one.
A sad one.
But real.
“Morning, sweet pea.”
My throat tightens. “Morning.”
I sit beside him, and he reaches for my hand immediately, squeezing it like he’s afraid to let go too soon.
We don’t talk for a while.
We just sit there.
Holding hands.
Breathing the same air.
Trying to make this moment last.
Eventually, he clears his throat. “Oliver’s coming to say goodbye too.”
I nod. “I know.”
Dad looks at me with that gentle, knowing expression — the one that says he sees right through me. “You doing okay?”
I swallow. “I’m… trying.”
He nods, his eyes softening. “Me too.”
We sit there a little longer, and then he stands, brushing his hands on his jeans.
“Well,” he says quietly, “I guess we should start loading the car.”
I nod again, even though my heart feels like it’s splitting open.
We walk outside together, the morning air cool against my skin. The sky is pale blue, the kind of blue that feels too calm for a day like this.
Dad opens the trunk, and I help him lift the last few bags — the ones we packed together yesterday. The ones that made everything feel real.
When we’re done, he closes the trunk gently, like he’s afraid the sound will break me.
I take a shaky breath. “Dad… I have something else for you.”
He turns, eyebrows raised.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the last envelope — the one I didn’t give him yesterday. The one I couldn’t give him until now.
It’s labeled:
“Open when you miss me.”
His face crumples instantly.
“Oh, Ellie…” he whispers.
I step closer, pressing it into his hand. “I know you’ll miss me. And I’ll miss you too. But… I want you to have this. For the moments when it feels too hard.”
He pulls me into his arms before I can say anything else.
And this hug…
This hug is different.
It’s tight.
It’s desperate.
It’s full of love and fear and hope and everything we’ve been trying not to say.
“I love you so much, sweet pea,” he whispers into my hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”
My voice breaks. “I love you too, Daddy.”
We stay like that for a long time — long enough that I feel the sun warm my back, long enough that my tears soak into his shirt, long enough that I wish time would stop.
But it doesn’t.
And eventually…
He pulls back.
His eyes are glossy.
Mine are too.
And then I hear footsteps behind me.
Oliver.
He walks up quietly, his expression soft and sad, and Dad pulls him into a hug too — a real one, the kind that says thank you without words.
When they pull apart, Dad wipes his eyes and exhales shakily.
“Well,” he says, voice trembling, “I guess… it’s time.”
And just like that…
The moment we’ve been dreading is here.
Dad stands there with his hands in his pockets, the morning sun catching the edges of his hair, making him look both older and softer than I’ve ever seen him. Oliver steps back beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth, but not close enough to take this moment away from me.
Dad looks at me again — really looks — and I feel something inside me crack.
“Sweet pea,” he says quietly, “come here.”
I don’t walk to him.
I run.
I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, and he hugs me so tight it almost hurts. His hand cups the back of my head the way he did when I was little, and that’s what finally breaks me.
A sob slips out — soft, shaky, impossible to hold back.
He presses his cheek to my hair. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
I cling to him harder, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like I can anchor him here if I just hold tight enough.
“I don’t want you to go,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to go either.”
We stand there like that for a long time — long enough that my tears soak into his shirt, long enough that his breathing gets uneven, long enough that I feel his shoulders shake just once.
He pulls back slightly, cupping my face in both hands. His thumbs wipe my tears even though more keep falling.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says softly. “You’re strong. You’re brave. And you’re not alone.”
I nod, even though it hurts. “I know.”
He smiles — a small, trembling smile. “I’m so proud of you, Ellie. Of the woman you’re becoming. Of your heart. Of everything.”
My chest aches. “I’m proud of you too, Daddy.”
He kisses my forehead, lingering there like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me.
Then he turns to Oliver.
And something in the air shifts.
Dad steps forward and pulls Oliver into a hug — not a polite one, not a quick one, but a full, tight, emotional hug. Oliver stiffens for a second, surprised, then hugs him back with both arms.
Dad’s voice is thick when he speaks. “Take care of her.”
“I will,” Oliver whispers. “I promise.”
Dad nods, pulling back, his eyes glossy.
Oliver steps beside me again, his hand brushing mine — not grabbing, not pulling, just there. A quiet reminder that I’m not alone.
Dad takes a shaky breath and opens the car door.
This is it.
He looks at me one last time. “I love you, sweet pea.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, my voice barely holding together.
He gets in.
Closes the door.
Starts the engine.
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
The car backs out of the driveway slowly — too slowly — like he’s trying to give me time to stop him, even though we both know I can’t.
When he reaches the street, he rolls down the window and waves.
I lift my hand, tears streaming down my face.
And then…
He drives away.
The car gets smaller.
And smaller.
And smaller.
Until it turns the corner.
And he’s gone.
My knees buckle.
Oliver catches me before I hit the ground, pulling me into his chest, holding me as I break — really break — for the first time since this all started.
I sob into him, my whole body shaking, and he holds me tighter, one hand on my back, the other cradling the back of my head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
I don’t know how long we stay like that — minutes, maybe longer — but eventually the sobs soften, turning into quiet, aching breaths.
Oliver helps me inside, his arm around me the whole time. The house feels different the moment we step in — emptier, quieter, like something warm has been pulled out of it.
I walk down the hallway on instinct, stopping at Dad’s room. The door is open. The bed is made. The dresser is empty. The air feels still.
I step inside slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the bed.
Oliver stands in the doorway, giving me space but staying close enough that I can feel him.
I sit on the bed and inhale — the faint smell of Dad’s cologne still lingering in the sheets.
A fresh wave of tears fills my eyes.
Oliver walks over and sits beside me, his hand finding mine.
We don’t talk.
We don’t move.
We just sit there — in the quiet, in the emptiness, in the aftermath.
And even though my heart hurts, even though everything feels different, even though the house feels too big and too quiet…
I’m not alone.
Not with Oliver beside me.
Not with Dad’s love still wrapped around me.
Not with the letters he took with him.
Eventually…
I’ll be okay.
But right now, I let myself feel it all.
And Oliver stays with me through every second.