I pull a bottle of water from the fridge and open it, the sound obscenely loud in the silence. My throat burns as I drink, but it doesn’t wash away the regret. I stormed out like a goddamn teenager, when what I should have done was stay. Stay, demand answers, face her.
But her omission gutted me.
Did she think I couldn’t handle it? The strange thing is the thought of her hiding Sophie’s plans hurts more than Sophie’s secret plans to go off to college and leave me behind.
And yet—what am I really furious about? Sophie applying to schools? A twenty-three-year-old choosing her own path? That’s what I punished Jasmine for. As if she’s supposed to be Sophie’s minder.
The thought drives a needle straight under my skin. The look on Jasmine’s face when I said I didn’t know her at all… I’ll never forget her flinch. The devastation in her eyes. The way her shoulders pulled inward.
I push back from the refrigerator, frowning. Realizing something too slow.
It’s too quiet. I expected to come back to them either arguing or giggling or at the least plotting to take me on. I expected, like an arrogant middle-aged man set in his ways, that life would stay still and I would always come back to them together in the house. Filling my house and heart with laughter and love.
But that’s clearly not possible.
The hesitation in Sophie’s eyes during that scary movie when I asked her if she’s happy comes back to me. She’s come into herself in the last couple of years, but it doesn’t mean she’s been happy. And somehow, I missed that.
In my need to protect her, I overlooked the fact that she’s a grown woman now and would want to stretch her wings. Would want to leave the nest, even. That she needs my support now as she goes out into the world rather than my stifling protection.
And how was Jasmine supposed to stop Sophie from all the plans she was making? What could she have done to curb my daughter who has the most stubborn of wills?
And fuck, where the hell are they?
My pulse spikes as I head down the hall.
I knock on Sophie’s door first, my legs automatically bringing me there. Also, because if I walk into Jasmine’s room, I’m not walking back out again until morning.
Until she spills all her secrets to me and lays herself bare. Until she’s mine in every way that matters.
I rap my knuckles again on the solid wood but there’s no answer. No sounds coming from inside the room at all. No light creeping out under the door. My stomach tightens, the floor seeming to tilt under my feet.
I open the door and find Sophie’s bed empty. For a second, ice sluices through my veins. Worry about her anxiety gnaws at me—did my anger trigger an attack? Are they even now at the ER?
Then I spot the neon square tacked to the wood, right at eye-level. I peel it free, recognizing the scrawl instantly.
sorry dad, I messed up.
will explain later…
spending night at Uncle Zayn’s.
talk to J. plz..
luv you loads…
A laugh bursts out of me, raw and unsteady.
Jesus, we’ve been doing this for years—her mistakes followed by post-its.
Dozens tucked in mirrors, under mugs, even inside my briefcase. Rituals that held us together.
My anger melts, soft and fast as ice cream under July sun. She’s safe and sound and apparently, recovered fast enough from my anger.
My throat works around a lump that wasn’t there a moment ago. I rub my thumb over the ink, then tuck the note in my palm. There’s only one door that matters now.
My chest tightens as I cross the corridor.
Vivid images of Jasmine from the last time I walked in this very door rush at me. How she looked sprawled out on the cute pink sheets, her tits jostling, her pussy warm and wet for me. How her sweet lips clamped around my cock and sucked my very soul out. How she gagged when I hit her throat but stubbornly begged me to give her more.
