More than I want to admit.
The screen blurs. I blink quickly and shove the phone facedown again.
From the corner of my eye, I see movement — Lily, standing in the doorway, not coming in but watching me carefully.
“You’re crying,” she says quietly.
“No, I’m not.” My voice cracks on the last word. Traitor.
She doesn’t push. She doesn’t rush in and hug me like a little kid might. She just nods and walks over, sitting down on the opposite chair again — close, but not smothering. “Okay. But if you need someone to sit here with you, I can do that.”
My throat works. “I know.”
She leans back, pulling her knees up to her chest. “People online are stupid. You don’t have to read that stuff. They’re wrong, anyway.”
It’s such a simple, earnest thing to say — the kind of thing only a twelve-year-old can say without irony or agenda — and it lands right in the hollow part of me.
I swallow. “Thanks, Lil.”
She nods again, almost shyly, and fiddles with her hair tie.
We sit like that for a while — me trying to breathe normally, her pretending not to watch me do it.
The crunch of tires on gravel makes both of us look toward the driveway.
Ethan’s truck pulls in.
Lily brightens instantly, hopping up. “Dad’s here!”
I, on the other hand, try to wipe under my eyes discreetly before he gets too close. Great. Perfect. Exactly who I want to see when I look like I’ve been emotionally sandblasted.
He climbs out of the truck holding a cardboard box. When he spots us on the patio, he pauses — eyes flicking over my face, catching more than I want him to.
“Hey,” he says carefully.
“Hey,” I echo, pretending my voice isn’t wrecked.
He lifts the box slightly. “Brought some extra battery lamps. Storm season’s not done messing with us.”
Cute cover. Seems the storm is beginning to be his latest cover of all covers.
Like, he didn’t just clock how miserable I look.
Lily barrels toward him. “Can I help carry them?”
“Sure.” He hands her two. “Careful — those are heavier than they look.”
She marches off with them like she’s hauling treasure.
When she’s out of earshot, Ethan walks closer, his voice dropping. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
Too fast.
He raises a brow. “Uh-huh.”
I force a smile. “It’s just… a day.”
