He wraps an arm around my shoulders—or, at least, he tries to, but struggles to reach all the way around due to my sheer size. Mom always said I got my height and build from her father.
“Maybe I don’t tell you enough, but I love you, Karan. And you have to believe me when I say that your mother and I love Rachel with all of our hearts. If something goes wrong, we’ll be heartbroken—maybe not as much as you, of course not—but still heartbroken. But…”
He peers into me, the strength of his gaze forcing me to look into his hazel eyes.
“No matter what, you’ll always be our son. There’s nothing more important to us than you, Karan. And so we’ll always be on your side. You won’t ever be alone.”
My chest caves in. I slam right back into my body and immediately wish I hadn’t. My heart is going a thousand miles an hour, ramming against my sternum like it wants out completely. Nausea has taken hold of my stomach, and my limbs feel weakened, impotent.
Everything hurts, and all I want to do is collapse in on myself, but I can’t.
Something about what my father said just doesn’t sit quite right with me.
There’s nothing more important to us than you, Karan.
What son wouldn’t be overjoyed to hear something like that? Who wouldn’t feel validated and cherished?
Apparently me, because all it does is send me into a complete spiral.
All my life, my father has drilled into me that I must cherish my parents above all else, and I’ve done it for years. Decades. Never complaining, always answering when they called.
It was easier for me to complete my duties from afar when we lived six hours away. Only when they moved closer did I realize the price I paid to truly live up to that expectation.
I’m expected to put them first. Yet, as their son, they putmefirst.
It’s not adding up.
Because who, then, will put my sons first?
The answer comes as clear as day in my brain:
Rachel.
But that’s not enough. Though I don’t doubt the potency of Rachel’s love and care, having been the recipient of that myself for fourteen years, they deserve so much more. They deserve for their father to put them first, too.
Maybe, just maybe, I should have thought of them and put them first, instead of constantly chasing whatever vision and wishes my parents held for my career.
The excuse I keep using seems laughable from where I’m standing, Rachel’s fury making sense to me in a way it never really has before.
Everything I’ve claimed to do to make my sons’ futures better has been nothing but a thin veil for my own feelings ofinadequacy, fed by the pressures my parents have been placing on my back.
But I was ready to change it all. I was ready to step down at work and only work my regular hours. I was ready to make an effort and finally put Rachel and the boys first.
I was fucking ready.
There’s no way this single misstep is going to cost me my wife. Not when I finally see more clearly than I ever have before.
I won’t allow it.
A bone-deep wave of exhaustion sweeps through my body at all of the realizations lighting up in my head at the same time. Suddenly, staying awake becomes unbearable.
I take a short instant to weigh my options. I can’t really run after Rachel, no matter how much I want to. Although I could borrow a car from someone in my family, I have no way of knowing where she’s headed.
The only thing I do know is that she has to come back. If not for me, for Cayce and Corey. No matter how angry she is at me, she’s not going to simply abandon them with me and escape.
My other option is to rest and hope that by the time she comes back, I’m in fighting order. Because I am not going down without a fight.
“I’m going to nap, if that’s okay,” I tell my father, scooting a few inches away from him to make it clear that this conversation is over. “I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight.”
