I hugged the blanket tighter around myself, curling inward as if, by trying hard enough, I could make myself smaller, quieter, and easier to forgive. My thoughts chased each other in circles, never landing anywhere solid.
And then there was Daddy.
My throat tightened at the thought of him, fresh tears burning behind my eyes. I still couldn’t understand how I felt about him, about what he’d done. All I knew was that when he wasn’t here, everything felt so much worse.
He’d been kind to me. He’d listened. He’d held me when I was scared and told me I was safe. He’d taken care of my back after Father’s punishment. He’d gone on my morning walks with me, even knowing the potential repercussions. He’d said he loved me, and it hadn’t felt like a lie or a trick or a test.
I didn’t understand how love could be something bad, even if it sometimes felt that way. I didn’t understand why wanting him made people frown and whisper and write things downon their little clipboards. I didn’t understand why they thought taking him away would help me.
All it did was make everything worse.
I was still upset with him. I was still confused and hurt about what he’d done. I didn’t know which things about him were true and which were lies. But even so, I wanted his comfort. I felt so, so alone here. No one ever understood what I was trying to say.
No one understoodme.
My need for comfort had started outweighing my need to push him away.
My gaze drifted to the door again, even though I knew he wouldn’t be there. I still listened for his footsteps, for his voice, for the way the room seemed to settle when he walked in. My body felt like it was constantly reaching for him, like a limb that had been cut off but still ached anyway.
“Daddy,” I whispered into the empty room, my voice barely more than breath.
Saying that word hurt, but not saying it hurt even more.
I wanted him to sit on the edge of the bed and brush my hair back. I wanted him to tell me I wasn’t bad, that I wasn’t being punished, that this wasn’t my fault. I wanted him to explain everything in a way that made sense. Everyone else confused me with big words and concepts I had no way of understanding. If Jace knew I wouldn’t be able to understand, he’d just tell me that and promise that he would handle things. He made things so simple. I loved that about him.
I wanted him to take me home—even… even if that word meant something different now—and make it all better the way he promised he would.
But the door stayed closed.
The machines kept beeping.
And I lay there, alone, trying not to believe the quiet voice in my head that whispered maybe this was what I deserved.
* * *
“Just five minutes, please,” a voice begged from the hallway. It was Jace. I couldn’t see him, but I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
My head lifted from the pillow I’d been resting on as I looked to the closed door of my little room.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him today.
Everything was still so jumbled up in my head.
One minute, I wanted him, and the next, I didn’t.
One minute, he was Daddy in my head, and the next, he was just Jace.
There was a low murmur outside—voices I couldn’t quite make out. One of them was Patel’s.
“I just need to see him,” Jace said. “Please. I have to talk to him.”
Silence.
Then Patel’s voice, clipped. “He denied your visit earlier.”
“I know, I know. Please just ask him. Tell him I need to apologize.”
There were a few more seconds of charged silence, then the door clicked open. Patel stepped in, shutting out Jace behind him.
