Chapter 36 Ellie
THIRTY-SIX
Ellie
The doorbell cut through the stillness of my apartment. I glanced up from the mess on the kitchen table—tour schedules, scribbled lyrics, half-finished song ideas, all scattered like a roadmap I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow anymore.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened, and just like that, the tension in my shoulders eased. My parents stepped inside, bringing that quiet, familiar comfort I didn’t realize I’d been missing. Mom’s smile was soft but steady, and Dad’s eyes searched mine like he was trying to read me.
“It’s so good to see you, sweetie.” Mom placed a small bouquet of wildflowers on the counter.
I managed a smile and pulled her into a hug. “Thanks. It’s great to see you.”
“How are you holding up?” Dad asked as he stepped inside.
“I’m good. Busy. How are you guys?”
“Oh, you know,” he said, waving a hand. “Your mother’s got us chasing down her travel bucket list before we get too old to enjoy it. I’m just along for the ride.”
Mom gestured toward the scattered papers on the table. “You’ve been writing a lot lately?”
“Yeah,” I said with a small shrug. “Here and there.”
I always wrote—songs, scraps of melodies, half-finished verses tucked into voice memos or scribbled in the margins of old notebooks.
It was how I made sense of things, how I processed feelings, but writing didn’t always mean I created something worth sharing.
Sometimes, it was just noise. Sometimes, it stayed unfinished on purpose.
Not every thought needed a spotlight. Not every emotion wanted to be turned into a chorus.
Still, with everything going on lately, it felt like my head was full of little songs—none of them finished but all of them trying to be heard.
Mom took a seat across from me. “How’s the tour going? Not too much longer now, right?”
“It’s good,” I said automatically. “I’ve been going full speed for almost a year, so I think I’m ready for a break.”
“You deserve one,” she murmured.
Mom tucked one leg under the other, and Dad settled back on the couch, his arms crossed and gaze steady. It was the kind of look that made you feel like he was listening even when you hadn’t started talking yet.
“I watched your acoustic set from Atlanta,” Mom said after a quiet moment. “You looked different. Calmer. Like you were really there.”
The set right after Christmas.
I smiled faintly. “Yeah. That one felt good.”
It was one of the rare nights lately when I wasn’t just performing—I was feeling. The music hadn’t felt like a job, a brand, or a blur of expectations. It had felt like mine.
Dad tilted his head. “You’ve always had that. When it’s real, people feel it.”
Mom, never one to tiptoe when she saw something, added, “But you haven’t been like that as much lately.”
The smile slipped from my face. I dropped my gaze to the mess of papers on the table—all the evidence of effort with no clear direction.
“I know,” I whispered.
“What’s going on, El?”
My throat tightened without warning. I blinked fast, willing the sting behind my eyes to back off.
Dad leaned forward, his voice gentle but grounded. “It’s okay, Ellie. Talk to us.”
I hesitated then exhaled. “It’s just...a lot.”
“Start there,” Mom said.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m doing everything I ever dreamed of. I have everything I thought I wanted.”
“But?”
“I should be happy. I should be soaking it in, loving every second.”
“But you’re not,” Dad said, his tone calm.
I shook my head. “No. Not the way I used to.”
Mom didn’t rush me. She just held my gaze.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. “It’s probably just the schedule, the pressure, or whatever.
I’ve worked too hard to start questioning it now.
I…I keep wondering if I should be doing more or pushing harder.
Like if I ease up, I’ll lose everything I’ve built. I just want to make you guys proud.”
Mom reached across the table and took my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You have already made us proud, over and over again.”
I swallowed. “But you sacrificed so much. You dropped everything for me. Drove me to every tiny venue, probably maxed out credit cards so I could get new equipment. You put your lives on hold so I could have a shot.”
“And we’d do it again,” my dad said. “A hundred times over.”
“But I don’t want to throw it away. I don’t want to walk away from something this big because it’s hard or because I’m tired. There are people who need what I do, who look up to me.”
Dad nodded. “They do, but the people who really see you? They want what’s best for you too, not the version of you on that stage.”
I looked down. “Some days, the touring, the spotlight—it feels heavier than it should. And every time I think about slowing down, I feel like I’m disappointing people, like I owe it to everyone to keep going.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “You’ve climbed a mountain most people only dream of. You’ve built something out of nothing. You’re allowed to want peace. It’s okay to change your mind. That’s not failure.”
I looked between them, my voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t be disappointed in me?”
Dad’s answer was immediate. “We could never be disappointed in you.”
Mom nodded, her eyes full of something fierce and unwavering. “You’re not here to live anyone else’s dream, not even ours. You’ve already made us proud. The rest? Those are just details.”
“What about that football player you’re dating?” Dad asked. “Does that play into this at all?”
I groaned. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Curious father. Sue me.”
I bit back a groan. Of course, he brought that up. That football player was tangled up in more parts of my life than I liked to admit, but I’d wanted distance. Boundaries. Something clean and controlled I could walk away from when the time came.
Nothing about Sawyer was easy.
He made me think about things I didn’t want to want and feel things I didn’t trust. He made me question the way I measured success, why I kept people at arm’s length, and how I’d turned independence into a wall instead of a choice. Somehow, he chipped away at all of it without even trying.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, picking at the edge of a page. “He complicates it.”
Mom tilted her head slightly. “Because you like him more than you meant to.”
It wasn’t a question.
I hesitated before admitting, “I do.”
Dad let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, I’ll be honest, I was surprised to find out my daughter was dating someone I’d never met, but after seeing you two at your concert a few weeks ago…”
“What?” I asked.
“I recognized that look,” he said, his voice softer. “The way he watched you when you weren’t looking. It’s the same way I used to look at your mom.”
I glanced away—not because I didn’t want to believe him, but because I did, and that terrified me. “Dad—”
My mom thankfully interrupted. “But you’re afraid?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “It just…doesn’t make sense. He’s retiring after the season. He’s going back to Oregon. My whole life is here. My career, my people, everything I’ve worked for. I don’t see how any of it adds up long-term.”
Mom reached across the table, her hand warm and steady over mine.
“Ellie, I say this with love—but Harold? He was a boy, and he never saw you for who you are. I didn’t say anything then because I didn’t want to meddle, but from the one time we met Sawyer…
I knew. That man cares about you in a way Harold never even came close to.
Don’t walk away from that just because you’re unsure where it’ll lead. ”
Dad nodded. “You’ve been chasing this dream with tunnel vision for a long time. It’s okay to widen your view or for the dream to change altogether.”
The words lingered long after he’d said them. I did want something real—Sawyer and a life that didn’t keep carving me into smaller, shinier pieces. Wanting that and believing I could have it—those were two different things.