Oh no.
My throat goes tight. I pull her into a hug and she clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that keeps shifting under her feet.
“Your daddy isn’t dead, sweetheart,” I tell her.Which is technically true. Physically he’s very much alive.
Emotionally?
Jury’s still out.
“Then why won’t he come out?” Her voice cracks. “Why won’t he look at me like before?”
Because he’s convinced his scars make him unlovable. Because he’s drowning in guilt. Because controlling everything from inside a dark room feels safer than facing what he’s become.
I can’t say any of that.
“He’s healing,” I tell her instead. “Remember what Dr. Hale said? He’s healing on the outside and the inside. And sometimes the inside takes longer.”
She nods against my shoulder. Doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her.
When I leave, I don’t bother to tell Marco about the conversation. We don’t do the nightly debriefs anymore, and anyway I’m sick of talking through a door to him.
Besides, he’s probably got enough to deal with. His own trauma. His own scars. The last thing he needs is me adding to the guilt pile.
The days blur.
Ben goes to school. Comes home. Does homework at the kitchen island while I make encouraging noises about her letter formation.
Marco stays in his room running his empire from the shadows via laptop and phone calls.
I catch glimpses of Neli coming and going with supplies. Jagstands guard.
The house functions like a machine where all the parts move independently and never quite connect.
I’m still sleeping in the glorified closet on Ben’s floor. The temporary live-in arrangement that was supposed to end keeps getting extended because apparently this is my life now.
Thursday night is the school forum.
I don’t want to go. The thought of facing other parents, of fielding questions about Marco, of pretending everything’s fine when it’s very much not makes my skin crawl.
But Elena specifically asked me to attend. Said it was important. Said Marco was supposed to come but he’s “unavailable.”
Unavailable. What a polite way to say hiding away in his room as usual.
I text Ethan and ask if he can come along for emotional support. His response is noncommittal.
I show up in jeans and a sweater that’s probably too casual but I’ve lost the ability to care about looking put together. My hair is in a bun. I’m wearing the bare minimum of makeup.
This is as good as it gets.
The forum is in the school library. Parents are scattered around on those tiny chairs that make everyone look like giants. I spot Ethan near the front and nearly cry with relief.
He waves me over. “Hey. Saved you a seat.”
“You’re my favorite person right now,” I tell him.
“Just right now?” He grins but there’s concern in his eyes. “How you holding up?”
“Define holding up.”
