“You won’t,” she said. “Your dad will go with you. Or Lily. Or… Claire.”
The sound of her name hit me like a physical blow.
I looked up.
“I’m not suggesting it,” Nora cut in gently. “I’m simply saying you have people. You’re not as alone as you think.”
I looked away again, my eyes burned. My throat felt full of sand.
She let out a slow breath. “Ethan… the guilt is already swallowing you. Visiting them won’t make it worse. It will give the guilt somewhere to go.”
I didn’t answer. Not because I disagreed.
But because the thought of standing at Matt’s grave, staring at his name etched in stone, hearing my own voice crack through apologies.
Terrified me.
Still…
I nodded.
Nora’s expression softened. “That’s enough for today.”
Her voice gentled even more. “You did good.”
???
When I walked out
Dad stood up from his chair in the waiting room the moment he saw me. He didn’t ask how it went. He just placed a hand on my shoulder, warm and steady.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
He didn’t let go until we reached the car.
Lily leaned against her booster seat, watching me with tired eyes full of concern I didn’t deserve. She reached out her small hand, palm up, waiting.
I took it. And held it gently.
And for the first time in days, I felt like maybe, there was a part of my life that wasn’t ruined. A version where I could still want things.
A version where I earned forgiveness instead of assuming I’d lost the right to it. Where I wasn’t drowning quite so constantly.
The storm clouds rolled overhead as we pulled out of the parking lot.
Chapter 34
Ethan
All morning, I had been trying to convince myself to follow through on the decision I’d made the night before. Today was supposed to be the day I stopped running and faced the guilt I’d been trying to avoid, by visiting Matt and Jenny’s graves.
Dad didn’t ask why I suddenly wanted to go. He just grabbed his keys and told me to get my jacket. That was always his way, steady and no questions he didn’t need answers to. I was grateful for it.
The cemetery sat at the edge of town, quiet beneath a line of tall pines. The air felt cooler there, or maybe it just seemed that way. Even sound felt muted, like the place asked for it. We walked the gravel path without talking, the crunch under our shoes the only noise between us.
When we reached Matt and Jenny’s markers, Dad stopped a few steps back. Then he turned and headed toward another section, going to visit a friend he’d lost to cancer three years earlier. He was giving me space.
