The same route I’d driven only a few weeks before suddenly feels foreign.
When I finally pull into the driveway, Dad is already at the door waiting for me. The cold air hits me hard when I pop the door open, biting at my face, but I barely notice it.
I leave the engine running when I exit, headlights slicing through the light dusting of flakes that have started to come down.
For a second, I think maybe he’ll yell at me.
Maybe the long drive home has given him the time to think about my confession and see it for what it really is: a stupid, rash decision I made and am not being forced to face the consequences of.
I’m terrified that I’ve become someone unrecognizable to him. That he sees me as someone other than his little girl.
But then he’s stepping off the porch and down the driveway with his arms held up.
I don’t even make it up the steps before I break down again.
The sound that comes out of me is ugly and raw, somewhere between a sob and a gasp.
And he’s there, pulling me in tight, holding me against his chest just like he used to when I was little and the world was still simple.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re okay. We’re going to face this together.”
I clutch his coat, fingers fisting the fabric, and sob until my chest aches and my throat burns.
He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t say anything else until I’ve finally cried myself into exhaustion.
He just stands there, holding me while I fall apart.
When the worst of it passes, he shuts my car off and leads me inside, his hand firm on my back.
The house smells just like it did weeks ago.
Everything suddenly becomes a painful reminder of the mistakes I made while under this same roof.
Every choice that led up to this outcome, every impulsive decision now punishing me.
He sits me down at the kitchen table and pours me a glass of water. The glass trembles in my hands.
My reflection ripples on the surface every time my fingers twitch.
Dad sits across from me, elbows on the table, studying me with that quiet, unshakable focus he’s always had.
His eyes are tired, rimmed with worry, but there’s no anger there, no disappointment, just concern and love.
“You know who the father is?”
My stomach twists painfully.
It’s a fair question.
One I should’ve expected him to ask.
One I should’ve prepared an answer for during my drive to keep my secret locked and buried inside me.
My hand tightens around the glass, making my knuckles grow white. “It was a…a one-night stand…someone on campus.”
The lie sounds stilted to my ears, but he has no reason to question it.
And even less reason to suspect the actual truth.
