This was what happened when the center gave out. When the people who held everything together collapsed under the weight of it all. Michelle and I had let this happen.
I found Grace and Quinn in front of the TV. Just propped there. Eyes glassy. I crossed the room and knelt in front of them, pulling both into my arms. Grace melted into the hug, but Quinn was distant. It struck me how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the rambunctious, war-mongering toy general anymore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile.
I pulled back and looked at my two youngest. “I love you guys.”
Grace said it back. Quinn didn’t.
“Who’s hungry?” I asked, forcing brightness into my voice.
Quinn shot me a look that was way too angry and defiant for a six-year-old. “I already made it.”
“You made food?”
He nodded. “For Grace and me. ‘Cuz no one else would.”
My heart twisted, and for one ugly second, all I could think was,Thank god for my deadbeat dad bringing me home.
I slid my fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m gonna do better.”
He nodded absently, not listening, maybe not believing, and returned his focus to the TV.
“Hey,” I said. “I have to talk to Mom real fast, but after, how about we go outside and I push you on the tire swing?”
“Don’t bother,” Quinn said. “Emma already did.”
“So?” I poked him in the side. “Is there some law against swinging twice?”
Quinn shrugged, but I could tell he was tempted.
“Give me twenty minutes,” I said. “Then I’m gonna swing you so high, you’ll be in nosebleed territory.”
That’s when I got my smile.
“Where’s Mom?”
“With Kyle.”
I raised a brow as I headed down the hall. Quietly, I pushed the door open and heard them talking. Instinctively, I shut it again. If ever two people needed each other, it was Michelle and Kyle.
I went back to the kids. “Change of plans. Bloody noses start now!”
For a brief, beautiful moment, our backyard came back to life—kids squealing and laughing, carefree. I wished I could freeze it there.
Once Quinn and Grace were settled with something that required their brains, I grabbed a notepad and started writing. Moving through the rooms, I cataloged the damage. Jammed drawer. Leaky faucet. Overflowing laundry. Bills piling up. Thelist kept growing. We were a family running on empty. This wasn’t about grief anymore. This was about survival.
I’d just made it back to the kitchen, my thoughts finally aligning into something resembling a plan, when the back door swung open.
“Dad?” Emma said, stopping short, clearly not expecting me.
She looked exhausted. Worried. And how could I blame her? Somewhere along the way, she’d become the parent in this family—a single parent. A teen mom without the mistakes that usually come with it.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, reaching for her. “How’s my girl?”
Her eyes filled instantly. She stepped forward and threw herself into my arms. Emma had never been much of a cuddler, but she clung now, face buried against my shirt, and I held her longer than she’d ever let me when she was still little enough to need it.
I whispered assurances in her ear, and when she finally pulled back, her face was wet.
“Not good,” she said. “It’s been an eventful morning.”
