“I don’t want to be blamed for wanting to keep the same distance. I didn’t have a choice then, but I do now. And I’m not angry, but we’re not going to have the closest father-daughter relationship. He made us like that, and even though I don’t blame him, I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened. Because it did.” My voice wavered. “I lived through that on my own, and it shaped me into who I am. And I like who I am.” I smiled, feeling a flicker of pride. “With some exceptions.”
“Your immune system’s response to peach jelly sucks, for one,” he said, and I chuckled, his grin deepening into those signature dimples.
“Yes, well. It is what it is,” I sighed. “I’m comfortable this way.”
The moonlight stretched across the room, and in that quiet silver glow, I saw more in Luke’s face than I ever had in daylight.
“I get it,” he said quietly, considering my words. “But there’s strength in vulnerability as much as in kindness. In asking for help. At least from people you care about, who care about you. From people who love you.” He shifted closer, resting his head in his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress. A strange wave of nostalgia washed over me as his gaze lingered.
“In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone love someone as much as my mom and dad loved each other,” I said, my smile widening. “They were opposites in many ways, but the way wehad our pancake Sundays or how they both always,alwaysbrought me to school together on the first day each year. When my mom felt like she’d failed after a concert, my dad would lift her back up. And when my dad had endless pitch meetings, she brought him sandwiches and let him vent to her even though she understood nothing about real estate. They anticipated each other’s needs. They loved each other the hardest when it was needed the most. Without asking. They were each other’s person.”
Luke listened closely, smiling alongside me.
“They loved each other well.”
A kaleidoscope of memories coursed through me. The good and the bad, the happy and the excruciatingly painful—moments that made me who I am.
“It sounds amazing,” he said, a faint shine gathering in his eyes. “I wish my parents had that kind of love.”
Something broke inside me. For this generous boy whose heart wished for something he’d never known.
“Luke, I... I’m sorry for what I said about your parents. I know nothing about your relationship with them and I—”
“But you do, Hazel. Youdoknow,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“It wasn’t my place,” I said, guilt pressing on my chest. How on earth could I judge him for that, when there was a time when I was so loved by my family, while he had to fight for it?
“It was,” he said, firmer, and this time I stayed silent, accepting his words. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again.
“I remember my first day of school, too. Damn, I was so excited to meet the other kids. Or maybe just eager to get out of the house,” he chuckled, but his eyes were distant. I winced at the heaviness behind his words.
“They fought the whole way there. But the moment we got out of the car, we were this perfect family. I didn’t get it at first—this sudden change in their characters, but slowly, it became our default setting. Appearance over feeling.
“I was often lonely as a kid and now as an adult...” he hesitated. “I thought I’d outgrown that feeling—always trapped between them—but it just feels more of the same.”
I had an inescapable need to touch him. I reached out and gently traced the line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips.
“They slowly started talking to me like a negotiator, passing messages through me. I often absorbed their negative reactions, too. Which, now that I think about it, is kind of fucked up.”
Itwasfucked up. His ambition, his drive, the walls he’s built around himself. Suddenly, it all made sense. But underneath, there was the real Luke. Gentle and good. Wanting love.
“So, I do what I do best to this day,” he added, gaze landing on mine, a faint, tired smile playing on his lips. “Negotiate.”
“Do you want to hear my thoughts?” I asked after a beat.
“Always,” he gave me a sweet, teasing smile, though his eyes stayed sober.
“I think that the most important relationship you will ever have is with yourself. And if the people closest to you are taking away your peace, it’s only fair to step back and set some boundaries.” I watched him, the now familiar tension in his shoulders, the subtle tightening around his jaw, and wondered how much of his life he had spent negotiating his own existence. How much of himself had been sacrificed in the name of survival, of keeping that peace.
“I don’t hate my father,” I added with a small laugh. “I never have. He made a choice to keep himself sane after losing someone he loved more than anyone. I can’t imagine pain like that. But after everything that happened, I needed distance toprotect my own heart. To let myself breathe.” I placed my hand on his chest and gently brushed my thumb over it. “You deserve that , too.”
He placed his hand over mine, holding something more in it than he realized.
“I hope you find it. I hope you find everything you don’t even realize you’re looking for,” I whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes. Something mending, something resisting. Like he was negotiating, not with me, but with himself. Whether to believe me, whether to let me in. Whether to do the most terrifying thing and let himself feel something more.
All I could do was hope he saw me as support in this moment: a helping hand, a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on. Knowing I could be there for him was enough, because he had been there for me when I needed him, too. Isn’t that what love was all about at the end of the day?
