“I know. I moved here partly to get out from under his shadow. To prove I could do this on my own. But also because...” I paused. “My mom was from Silverrun. Being here makes me feel closer to her. And he won’t visit.”
“And you can’t force people to be ready,” he said quietly.
“Exactly. So I’m forced to take what I can get from him, and sometimes that’s not enough.”
I settled deeper into him, feeling the weight lift just from saying it out loud.
“That’s why this—” I gestured between us— “means so much. You show up, DaVinci. You don’t make me beg for it.”
“And I’m not going anywhere, Lo. I promise you that.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Three years ago.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And the fucked up part?” I laughed, but it came out bitter. “I’m still trying to prove myself to him. I became a firefighter, thinking he’d be proud. I made Lieutenant, thinking he’d come visit. And he hasn’t. Not once.”
DaVinci stood up, pulling me into his arms. I went without resistance, burying my face against his skin.
His arms tightened around me. “Look at me.”
I lifted my head and met his eyes.
“You are enough,” he said firmly. “And if your father can’t see that, or wants to miss out, that’s on him. Not you. You hear me?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t fully believe it.
“I mean it, Halo. You’re one of the strongest, smartest, most capable women I’ve ever met. You save lives. You lead people. You show up every single day and give everything you've got. You made healing balms in your kitchen because you wanted to help people feel better. You came to me at two in the morning because you knew I was hurting. That’s who you are. And if he’s too caught up in his own grief to see it, that’s his loss. Not yours.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Then another.
“I just want my dad back,” I whispered.
“I know, baby. I know.”
He held me while I cried. Not the pretty kind of crying—the ugly kind, the kind that came from years of keeping it in. And he didn’t try to fix it or tell me it would be okay. He just held me and let me feel it. I had no intention of even getting into my feelings today. But the things blossoming between us were requiring me to prune, heal, and shed, if I wanted to grow. I would let it.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Another call from my dad.
“You want me to answer it?” DaVinci asked.
“No. Let it go to voicemail.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I leaned back into him. “If he really wants to talk, he’ll leave a message. He’ll show up. He’ll do something besides call.”
He put me back in my seat, and we finished breakfast together while Brixxi sat at our feet, sleeping.We finished breakfast in silence. We both took the time to process everything we’d just shared. After a while, he started clearing plates, and I helped him load the dishwasher. The domesticity of it felt natural, like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.
When I finally looked up at him, he was watching me with something soft in his eyes.
“Thank you for listening and not making it weird. For just... being here.”
“Always, Angel.” He kissed my forehead. “That’s what we do now.”
When we settled back on the couch with coffee, I found myself thinking about everything he’d said. About grief. About guilt. About showing up.
