And Cecily... she stands close most days, arms folded. She doesn’t have to say much. The look in her eyes is enough.
At least they’ll start therapy soon. And with Alicia changing schools, maybe things will begin to shift, maybe she’ll have a chance to breathe again, to find something normal in all this chaos.
But I’m not giving up on my kids. Even if they don’t want to see me right now, I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep trying.
I rub at my chest, there’s a kind of pain that doesn’t scream anymore. It just sits there, heavy and dull, like a weight you can’t shake off. That’s where I live now.
In the wreckage I built myself.
Cecily
The drive back home feels longer than usual.
Maybe it’s because I keep glancing at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Alicia’s face again. The way she tried to be brave this morning, clutching her backpack so tight her knuckles turned white.
Her new school isn’t far.
Same district, different atmosphere. It’s the school Felicity’s older daughter, Hazel, attends. Familiar enough that Aliciawon’t feel completely out of place, but distant enough to give her a sense of comfort, and maybe even the hope of a new beginning.
I’d spent weeks trying to get her to open up about it, to talk even a little about how she felt. But every time the topic came up, she’d deflect, change the subject, and I let her. I didn’t want to push; I just wanted her to know I was there, that she could come to me when she was ready.
It was on the first day of the year, up at the cabin, when everything finally came to a head.
Colin showed up to see the kids, looking like someone who hadn’t slept in days. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to see him. I wished that, at least on the first day of the year, I wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. Being in his presence still hurt, and talking to him often felt exhausting, almost impossible.
But for the kids, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.
We ended up talking inside his car, parked near the trees. For a moment neither of us spoke, the wind outside the only sound breaking the silence.
“She doesn’t want to go back to school,” I tell him. “She had a horrible nightmare the other night. She says everyone knows. That they’ll all be staring at her. Laughing behind her back.”
He sits there for a long moment, his hands resting on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead like he doesn’t trust himself to look at me.
“She shouldn’t have to go through that,” he says finally, his voice low. “None of this is her fault.”
“I’ve been thinking about moving her to a new school,” I admit. “Even though the year’s already started.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what she needs,” he says. “A clean start. A different school, different faces. Somewhere she won’t feel like she’s being punished for my choices.”
He hesitates, then adds more softly, “I have a few contacts. I can make some calls. We could get her in somewhere else, if you think it’s the right thing.”
For the first time in a long while, we’re not arguing. We’re just two parents, sitting in a parked car on a cold January morning, trying to protect our daughter from a world that suddenly feels too cruel.
I nod slowly, my voice barely steady. “Hazel goes to the one on the east side,” I say. “It’s smaller. More structured. Less than half an hour from home.”
“That could work,” he says quickly. “If she’s comfortable there, it’s worth it.”
And just like that, a plan starts to take shape. A week later, the paperwork is done. The tuition transferred. The uniforms ordered.
I made the same offer to Ethan, but he refused, said he could handle whatever came his way. He even offered to wake up earlier and drive Alicia before heading to his own school. But that’s out of the question. They’re on opposite sides, and I told him as much.
I know he always wants to help, and I thanked him for it. But I also keep reminding him that he’s a teenager, after all. That he should spend time with his friends, focus on his studies, and let me take care of them, not the other way around.
As I drive home, I tell myself we did the right thing. That this new beginning will give Alicia a chance to breathe again, to just be a teenage girl, not someone defined by what her father did.
But deep down, I know how fragile peace can be.
And I know, too, that no matter how careful we are, the ghosts of what happened always find their way in.
