I rub my thumb over the frame, breath hitching.
"It didn't come easy, though. I messed up. Bad. And if you were here, I know you would've knocked some sense into me before I made a complete idiot of myself. You always saw right through me. Always knew when I was about to screw something up."
My voice cracks again.
"But... I'm trying. I'm really trying to be better for her."
Another weak, broken laugh escapes me. "Guess miracles do happen, huh?"
I lean back against the headboard, letting my head fall against it — a dull thud — and more tears spill out, hot and fast, before I can blink them away.
"And Mom—"
I laugh, short and humorless.
"Mom's not okay, Dad. She pretends she is, but she's not. And I'm trying, I swear I'm trying, but I don't know if I'm doing it right. I don't know how to be what she needs."
The words spill out of me like something breaking open.
"And Sam—she's getting sick again. Not like before... I hope not like before. But she's not telling Mom because she doesn't want her to worry."
I wipe my face with the heel of my hand.
"She's trying so hard to be strong. But she's still just a kid. She still needs you."
I hold the picture tighter — too tight — like if I grip it hard enough, maybe I can climb through it and go back.
"I don't know how to do this without you," I whisper. "I really fucking don't."
My voice collapses into a sob before I can stop it — ugly, raw, painful. I press the picture to my chest like it's the only thing holding me together.
"I miss you," I rasp. "I miss you so damn much it feels like my ribs are cracking."
My shoulders shake, and I let out a long, broken breath that's been stuck in me for years. "Even when it hurts. Even when I don't know what I'm doing... I'm still trying. For you."
The room stays silent, but something in the air shifts — a quiet stillness that feels almost like a hand on my shoulder.
It doesn't fix anything.
Doesn't make the grief smaller.
But for a second, the emptiness feels a little less endless.
And I hold the picture tighter, letting myself break. Because for once, I'm not pretending I'm strong.
Not tonight.
Not without him.
CHAPTER forty-seven
CAROLINE
The ladder wobbles beneath me like it's personally offended by my life choices.
"Okay... okay... steady," I whisper, gripping the sides like my life depends on it—because, well, it kind of does.
The metal creaks, one rung groaning louder than my soul during exams. "Seriously, why am I doing this again?"
