46 MADDY
MADDY
How can words on a piece of paper make me cry?
KIARA: WHAT happened???? Are you safe? Do you need me to come over??
MEL: Mads babe please text. I’m worried.
LIAM: serious question: do I need to punch Jacob too?
NOAH: saw your door was closed. you know where to find me, okay?
My throat tightens. They’re all being so sweet it almost makes it worse.
I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying here for… I don’t even know how long. Ten minutes. An hour. A fucking lifetime. My brain just keeps replaying everything on a loop.
I type the same message to all of them before I can overthink it. I’m fine. I’ll explain at school.
I drop the phone onto my chest and stare into the dark for a second. After a couple more minutes, it almost feels like my breathing has gotten worse—when there’s a gentle knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call, trying to sound normal. The door opens and Dad steps inside. I quickly school my face into something that resembles okay. “Hey.”
“Noah asked me to check on you,” he says gently, walking over to my bed.
Of course he did.
Dad sits on the edge of the mattress, and I push myself up a little straighter against the headboard.
“I’m okay,” I say quickly.
He gives me a look. “Are you sure?”
I nod my head, which apparently does not look convincing at all. Dad studies me for another second, then reaches into his pocket. “Well… I was cleaning up some things upstairs today, and I found this.”
He holds out a white envelope with my name written in my mother’s handwriting.
I blink. “Oh my God—is that one of our old birthday cards?”
“Yeah.” He smiles softly. “Found the whole box, actually. This one’s from when you turned twelve.”
I take it carefully, thumb brushing over the familiar handwriting. “Remember how we used to make everyone wear those ridiculous paper party hats before cake?” I say, a small laugh slipping out.
Dad huffs out a quiet laugh. “Hey, that was your rule, not mine.”
“Because Mom said birthdays were only once a year and had to be celebrated to their full potential,” I mumble.
His smile softens for a second before he clears his throat lightly.
“You know,” he says, a little more casually, “he was always making sure your hat didn’t fall off before the candles.”
My eyes stay on the envelope. “Yeah, Noah was always helping me.”
Dad shakes his head. “No,” he says gently. “I don’t mean Noah.”
I turn my glare towards him, my eyebrows lifting up.
“I meant Ryan.”
My heart stutters. And Dad continues. “Kid used to hover around like your personal party assistant. Fixed your hat, relit the candles when they got blown out, made sure you got the corner piece with the extra frosting.”
My pulse is suddenly very loud in my ears.
Did he actually?
I look back down at the envelope, fingers tightening slightly around the edge. Dad must notice the way my eyes start to sting, because he stands and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Get some good sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
He turns toward the door.
“Dad?”
He pauses and looks back at me. “Yeah?”
I hesitate, my grip tightening around the envelope as I try to find the right words. “Do you ever wish you never met Mom?”
His brows pull together slightly. “What do you mean, honey?”
I swallow. “I mean… if you never met her, you wouldn’t have to miss her. Or feel hurt.”
For a second, he just looks at me. Then he walks back over and sits down beside me on the bed.
“I would fall in love with your mom in every lifetime,” he says quietly. “Even if I had to lose her in every single one.”
My chest tightens, my vision blurring as he continues.
“I miss your mom every day. Each morning I wake up, I reach to the other side of the bed, hoping she’s there. And each time, I have to remember she’s not.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
“But then I come downstairs,” he says softly, “and I look at you… and see parts of her. And when I look at you and Noah, I know that every moment I have to miss her is worth it.”
His hand comes up, brushing gently over my cheek.
“It was worth loving her,” he continues. “For all the time I had with her. It was all worth it.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Losing people you love… or getting hurt by them, that’s part of life,” he says. “But some people are just worth the risk.”
I nod, even though I can barely see through the tears.
“I think I can guess who this is about,” he adds gently.
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod again.
“You don’t have to figure everything out right now, honey,” he says. “But I know that he cares about you.”
That makes something in my chest ache in a completely different way. More tears spill over, and before I can stop myself, I lean into him. He wraps his arms around my shoulder, holding me tight. Then he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.
He pulls back slightly, giving me a warm smile. “I’m so proud of the woman you are.”
I lean against his shoulder. “Love you Dad.”
“Love you too, honey.” He stands up and presses one last kiss against the top of my head. “You know I’m here if you need anything.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Goodnight, Mads.”
“Night, Dad.”
The door clicks softly behind him, and I sit there for a moment, taking a couple slow breaths, trying to steady myself.
Then I lean back against the headboard, staring down at the envelope in my hands for a long second before finally sliding my finger under the flap.
I pull the little card out. There’s a drawing of a bunny with a party hat, that I think my mother drew.
I huff a quiet laugh at that before flipping the card around.
A small, watery laugh escapes me.
Tears slip quietly down my cheeks.
My breath catches completely now.
My eyes snag on his name.
My heart actually stops. I stare at the words. I don’t even remember reading that back then. I probably thought she was joking.
My eyes squeeze shut and a shaky breath leaves me as I scrub at my cheeks.
God, I miss her. Right now, more than anything, I just want to hug her. And she’d know what to do. Moms always do.
I can’t even think straight right now. Too much has happened tonight. I just need to sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday. No school. No work. Tomorrow I can figure things out.
I reach for my phone to set an alarm, but a reminder pops up on the lock screen.
Surf lessons w/ Bailey — pick her up @ 8:30
I blink at it. “Oh, shit.”