“I’m not here because of some debt,” I finally stammer. “Am I?”
When he turns, I don’t look away fast enough. His dark eyes catch mine, and my pulse skips hard.
“I’m afraid,” he says after a moment, “at least for my part, you are.”
I fold my arms, trying to steady myself. He’s simply stating what we already know. I used my father’s name to get here, after all. But hearing it spoken so plainly—that I am a tally mark on a ledger rather than a guest—stings more than I expect.
Because I thought, once I got here, I could just be known for who I am.
“My dad wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to repay him for anything,” I say.
He exhales slowly. “I’m not trying to repay him. I’m trying to explain why I’m here at all.”
I freeze.
Does he mean…?
His gaze drops, jaw tightening.
“You must have loved Natalie very much,” I say softly.
“Well…It’s more complicated than that. As I said, we were already over when she died, but I still cared about her. I tried to stay in touch. To offer support. But…” He trails off.
“How did she d—?” I begin, then wince. “Sorry, it’s none of my business—”
“That’s alright.” His gaze becomes distant. “She took her own life.”
The words hit like a cold wave.
“Oh, Brandon…”
He rubs his face. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stray into such a heavy topic.”
“You don’t have to apologise. Sometimes it’s good to talk about things.”
“I never do,” he admits, squaring his shoulders. “I only wanted to make the point that if it wasn’t for your father, I honestly don’t know how I would have managed. So helping you feels like the right thing to do.”
I nod silently, his words settling unevenly.
Would he have helped me if I weren’t my father’s daughter?
Or is this a transaction, pure and simple?
He turns to stare out the window again, his hands in his pockets.
Rain taps against the glass, louder now.
I want to ask more: about my dad; about who the woman in his past is; about the man standing in front of me, whose grief is so carefully contained. He’s holding himself unnaturally still, like any movement might let something slip.
And even though I’ve just met him, my heart aches. I’ve stepped into something raw, something that doesn’t quite belong to me. He’s shared a sliver of his pain, and it creeps under my skin, bleeding into mine.
I don’t want to be the reason he has to feel this way now.
“Brandon…” I hesitate, urging myself to stay quiet even as I search for the right words.
“Hm?” He doesn’t turn. Maybe he doesn’t trust himself to.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come.It’s on the tip of my tongue, but all I can think of is the fact we both lost someone. We’re both hurting.
