Dad's face drains, then sharpens. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"Because I was tired," I say. "Tired of proving myself to you. Tired of being scared of disappointing you. Tired of thinking you'd look at me the way Tom wanted people to."
His eyes widen, and for a heartbeat, guilt flickers there.
I add, "And Gabe helped me handle it. He didn't ask for anything. He didn't insert himself. He listened. He protected me when I needed it."
Dad's gaze cuts to Gabe again, softer this time but still guarded. "Is that true?"
Gabe nods once. "Yes. I kept it clean. No threats. No force. Just evidence and making sure the women he hurt had a chance to confront him. Lena did most of it."
Dad stares at him for a long, strained moment. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head, weighing every worry against the reality in front of him.
Then he asks, quieter, "How long has this been going on?"
I open my mouth, but my voice fades before the words form.
Not because I'm ashamed.
But because I realize how long I've lived waiting for my father's permission.
Gabe steps closer—not touching, just close enough that I can feel the heat of him. "Long enough," he says. "And not long enough. Both."
Dad looks between us, and something in his face shifts. He isn't softened. He isn't convinced. But he isn't attacking anymore. He's adjusting. Recalculating.
He scrubs a hand over his face. "I came here to talk about the dinner. Someone told me you humiliated Tom."
I laugh once. "He humiliated himself. We just gave him an audience."
Dad frowns again, confused, irritated, fatherly, all mashed together. "I don't know what to do with all of this."
"You don't have to do anything," I say. "Just don't make this harder."
He searches my face. The girl he raised. The woman he keeps forgetting I grew into.
"I want you happy," he says quietly.
"I am," I answer.
His gaze flicks to Gabe. "I don't know how to feel about this."
"That's fine," I say. "You don't have to feel anything yet."
He lets out a slow breath. "We'll talk more."
I nod. "We will."
He steps back toward the door, pausing once more when he looks at Gabe. Something unreadable settles in his eyes.
Then he leaves.
The door closes behind him, and the house exhales.
I stand very still, hand still on the knob.
Gabe walks up behind me, his voice low. "You okay?"
I look up at him. "I'm more than okay."
