I'd heard it in his voice. Seen it in the way he couldn't look at me. Felt it in the tremor beneath his control.
Don't come back.
The words echoed.
My father reached a trembling hand toward me. Monitors beeped faster. The IV tube caught the light.
I took his hand. Squeezed gently. Tried to smile. Failed. Because part of me—too large a part—wasn't here at all.
Part of me was still in that house. In that bed. In Gideon's arms. Where I suddenly, terrifyingly, desperately wanted to be.
I sank into the chair beside him.
Plastic squeaked. My bones felt too heavy. The room smelled like death wearing a sterile mask.
"I didn't want you to worry." His voice was weak. Thin. Threaded with something that might have been regret if I could afford to believe it.
I flinched.
"That's exactly the problem." The words scraped out raw. "You never let me worry. You hid everything until it was already too late."
His eyes flickered. Confusion. Defense. The same pattern we'd danced for years.
But I was past stopping.
"You never took care of me."
His face tightened. Hurt flashing across features too pale, too drawn.
"You took care of whatever you wanted in the moment. Your ideas. Your whims. Your risks. Your schemes." My voice dropped. "And I was collateral damage every time."
His breath stuttered. The monitor beeped faster.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Tears burned tracks down my cheeks.
"I love you. But I can't keep paying for the choices you made decades ago."
"Belle—"
I shook my head hard. My hair fell forward, hiding my face. Hiding the grief I couldn't contain. "No. Listen to me." More tears spilled. Hot. Angry. Exhausted. "I can't watch you get hurt anymore. I can't be the one fixing everything. I can't keep sacrificing my life to save you."
The words tasted like betrayal. Like freedom. Like both at once.
His voice cracked, "The bills, Belle… how?—?"
I closed my eyes. Breathed deep. Trembling. Everything inside me fracturing. "They're taken care of."
Silence.
Then confusion—immediate, disoriented.
"By who?"
I opened my eyes. Looked at him through the blur. Soft. Shattered. And finally honest. "By the only person who's been taking care of me at all."
The admission hung between us.
My father stared. Processing. Not understanding.
