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.”
