"I don't like that," I whisper.
"You can't change people," he says softly. "That's the first thing. No matter how much you love them. No matter how much you need them to be something else. They are who they are, and they won’t change because you need them to."
"You're talking about Mom," I say.
"And Jasper and Brooks," he adds without missing a beat.
I blink at him. "What are you saying, Dad?"
"I'm saying I know you're carrying more than your share of the weight. I know you want your mom and Jasper to show up differently, to be more like you. You need that. Hell, I need that, too. But they're not built like you, Ellie. And they won't change because you need them to. People don't change until they're ready. And sometimes," he coughs, breath labored, "they never are."
I study my hands. "I just thought showing up was the bare minimum."
Dad nods, then glances at me sideways. "And what about Brooks?"
My throat throbs. "What about him?"
"You're going to break his heart," he says, voice low but clear.
I stand abruptly, the weight of it hitting too fast, too sharp. "You make it sound like I’m using him."
Dad doesn't flinch. "He's not a fling, Ellie. Not for you. And definitely not for him."
"You think he can commit?" I snap. "To anyone?"
"You know why he can't," Dad replies gently.
"No. Actually, I don't."
He coughs again, slower this time. "He's always loved you. He doesn't know how to love in halves. He never has. And you? You're always leaving."
My heart cracks a little. "Is that how you see me?"
He lifts his head as best he can, meeting my eyes. "It's not how Iseeyou. It's who you are. And it's not a bad thing, Ellie. You have wings the rest of us were never given."
Tears sting. "Why are you saying this?"
"Because I'm afraid I'm dying," he says. "And I need you to know that I don't want you to change for Brooks. Or him for you. Love doesn't ask us to become smaller. And it doesn't keep score."
"You are not dying," I say, sharper than I mean to. "You're fine. You're perfectly fine."
But a tear slips out anyway, trailing down my cheek before I can stop it. Dad reaches for my hand with trembling fingers, and I let him take it.
"I want to be," he says quietly. "But if I'm not... I need to knowyou'regoing to be okay."
"I'm always fine," I whisper. "Even when I'm not."
He squeezes my hand, his voice heavy with something I don't want to name. "That's why I worry about you the most."
A lump forms in my throat. "It's not fair."
Dad chuckles, a soft, sad sound that somehow cuts deeper than tears. "Life never is."
"You're not dying," I repeat, desperate now. "You're not."
He doesn't argue. Doesn't agree. Just gives me that small, knowing smile that makes me want to scream.
A nurse steps in. "Dr. Kulkarni will be in shortly." Her expression says the rest and my stomach flips.
