And just like that, my appetite dies on the spot.
16
LENA
I stand there for a second too long before I step aside and let him in. I'm twenty-nine. I pay my own bills. I raise my kid. I got through pregnancy, labor, and four years of doing this alone. But the minute my dad walks into my house, something old and tight wakes up in my chest. The part of me that still wants him to look proud instead of disappointed.
He steps into the kitchen and spots the open pizza box like it's an offense to the entire human race.
"Lena," he says, voice sharp, "why are you eating this?"
My jaw clenches. "Because I was hungry."
"There's hungry," he mutters, "and then there's this." He gestures at the slice in my hand. "Processed junk. You could've made something real. You said you were trying to take care of yourself."
I take a slow breath. "Pizza is real food, Dad."
He lets out a humorless laugh. "Not the way you eat it."
And there it is. That familiar sting that hits the same bruise it's been hitting since I was a teenager and he said a second helping would "show on my hips." The same bruise he poked when I was pregnant and he warned me not to "let myself go" if I ever wanted a man to stay. I know better now. I know he's wrong. I know he's not the authority on my body or my worth. But my stomach still drops like I'm fifteen again.
"I'm not doing this with you," I say, closing the box. "You didn't drive over here at eight at night to judge my dinner. What do you want?"
He folds his arms. Classic Dad move. "I came because I heard things."
Of course he did. This town treats gossip like sport, and he always assumes the worst version of anything that involves me.
I don't say a word. I just wait.
He shifts, uncomfortable. "People are talking. Saying there's an older man staying over. Saying you're letting Jace be around someone who?—"
I cut him off. "You came here to police my love life?"
"It's not a love life if it's… whatever this is." His mouth twists. "You know how this town talks. You know how this looks."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't care how it looks."
He gives me that disappointed stare again—the one that makes me feel like I'll never be enough, no matter what I do. "You should care, Lena. You have a son. You need to think about the kind of people?—"
"That's enough," I snap, louder than I meant to. "Tell me why you're really here."
He stops. Just for a heartbeat. Then he finally meets my eyes.
"I want to make sure you're not ruining your future."
My fingers curl tightly at my sides. There it is—the old script. The idea that I'm one wrong move from disaster. That he has to swoop in and steer me away from whatever mess I'm too stupid to see coming.
I stand straighter. "My future's fine. My son's fine. And you don't get to decide who I let into our lives."
He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand.
"Stop. I'm tired. Say the real reason you came or go home."
He hesitates and his eyes shift before he clears his throat. "I'm meeting a friend tonight— Marvin," he says. "You know his son… Leo. He's just moved back to this town."
Oh, I know Leo. He went to my school, and he spent most of his time chasing anything in a skirt and bragging about it. Guys like him never saw girls like me unless they needed homework answers.
I stare at him. "Okay… and?"
