“Words aren’t going to fix this,” my dad says. He leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Think about it, son. From what you’ve told us, Preston could talk his way out of anything, make Snow doubt what she saw with her own eyes. Words are cheap. They’re easy to fake.”
“So what do I do?”
“Show her,” my mama says simply. “Don’t tell her the truth. Show her.”
“How?”
My parents exchange a look, one of those silent conversations that comes from thirty years of marriage.
“What are you good at?” my dad asks. “What’s your language?”
“Photography,” I say automatically. “Building things.”
“There you go.” My dad sits back. “You’re a photographer, Wyatt. You understand the difference between a genuine moment and a staged one. Use that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve been telling us for months that you’re ready to leave modeling behind,” my mama says. “That you want to focus on your photography, capturing real moments instead of fake ones. So do that. Show Snow the difference. Show her what’s real.”
The idea begins to take shape in my mind, vague and terrifying. “You mean like… an exhibit?”
“I mean, show her your truth,” my mama says. “In the language you speak best. Not words. Not apologies. Show her your heart.”
“What if she doesn’t come? What if she sees it and it’s not enough?”
“Son,” my dad says. “If this woman is as smart as you say she is, she’ll see it. She’ll understand.”
“Your father’s right,” my mama adds. “Snow is strong, Wyatt. She walked away from a man who tried to break her. She built a whole new life for herself. That takes incredible courage. Give her credit for being able to see the truth when it’s right in front of her.”
I feel something shift in my chest — not hope, exactly, but maybe the possibility of hope. “I don’t even know if she’ll show up.”
“That’s where her friend comes in,” my dad says. “Nico, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s protecting Snow. That’s her job.” He pauses. “Wyatt, you said Nico ran a background check on you before Snowgot serious with you. That means Nico knows you’re not like Preston. She knows your history. Use that.”
“Reach out to Nico,” my mama says, nodding. “Be honest. Be vulnerable. Tell her what you want to do and ask for her help. The worst she can say is no.”
“What if she says no?”
“Then you do it anyway,” my mama says firmly. “You create this exhibit, you put your heart on display, and you hope. Because that’s all you can do, honey. You can’t control whether Snow forgives you. You can only control whether you show up and tell the truth.”
“Maybe fire that agent of yours,” my dad adds.
We sit in silence for a moment. I can hear the clock ticking in their kitchen, the distant sound of their neighbor’s dog barking.
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls,” I say finally. “I just… I couldn’t talk to anyone. The only person I wanted to hear from was her.”
“We understand,” my mama says, but her voice is still tight with worry. “But Wyatt, you can’t shut us out like that. We’re your family. We love you. And when you’re hurting, we need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” I admit, and saying it out loud makes it real. “I’m really not okay, Mama.”
“I know, baby.” Her eyes fill with tears. “But you will be. One way or another, you will be.”
“What if I lose her?”
My dad takes a deep breath. “It will hurt like hell, but you’ll survive it. But Wyatt, I don’t think you’re going to lose her. Not if you fight for her the right way.”
