I know what people think when they hear a man say something like that. I thought it too, for a long time. I told myself I was exaggerating. I told myself it wasn't that bad. I told myself men didn't end up in that situation, and if I was in it, it must be my fault somehow. She was very good at helping me believe that.
The drinking started as a way to get through the evenings without saying something that would make things worse. And then it became the only way I knew how to get through anything at all. I'm not telling you this to excuse what I became. There's no excuse for the father I failed to be. I know that. I'll know it for the rest of my life.
But I need you to understand that I didn't leave because I didn't love you. I stayed because I was terrified of what she'd do if I tried. She told me she'd take you kids. She told me she'd make sure I never saw any of you again, and she had the connections to do it. She told me no onewould believe me. And she was right that I was too broken by then to fight her. That's on me. The fact that I let myself get that broken is on me.
When I finally got sober, the first thing I felt was shame. Not about the drinking. About every morning I didn't get up and fight for you anyway. About every night I chose the bottle over being the father you deserved. About the look on your face when you realized you couldn't rely on me and had to start doing it yourself.
You were seventeen years old and you picked up everything I dropped and you carried it for years, and I don't know how you did it. I don't know how you're still standing. But I need you to know that I see it. I see what you built out of nothing. I see what those kids are because of you. And I see you now, choosing to get well and choosing to let people in, and it's the bravest thing I've ever watched happen.
I just needed you to know that I loved you then and I love you now and the failure was mine, not yours. You were never too much. You were never the problem. You were the best thing in a situation that should never have existed, and I'm sorry I wasn't the father who could protect you from it.
I'll keep showing up quietly for as long as you'll allow it. And if the answer is never, I'll understand that too.
Dad
I foldedthe letter along its creases and held it for a moment and didn't say anything, because there was nothing useful to say. The room was very quiet except for the muffled sound of the party down the hall and the ocean outside the window.
Soren had his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
I set the letter down on the nightstand and put my arm around him. He didn't cry. He just sat there with his face covered for a long time, breathing.
“She was hurting him,” he said finally, into his palms. “The whole time we were growing up. She was hurting him and he couldn't get out.”
“Yeah.”
“I hated him.” His voice came out rough and flat. “For years I just hated him for being useless. For not being there. And he was — “ He stopped. Pressed his hands harder against his face. “Fuck.”
“You didn't know.”
“I called him a coward. To his face. After everything went to shit with the kids. I said that to him and he just—he took it.” He lifted his head and stared at the window. “He took it because he thought he deserved it.”
“He was trying to protect you,” I said carefully.
Soren was quiet for a long time. Outside, someone laughed at something, and the sound drifted through the walls, warm and distant.
“I don't know how to hold all of it at once,” he said. “Being angry at him and understanding why it happened. Grieving what we missed and knowing it wasn't just his fault.” He looked at me. “Is that supposed to make sense?”
“It doesn't have to make sense,” I said. “It's just true.”
He reached out and picked up the letter again. Looked at it without unfolding it. Then he set it down carefully, like he was putting something fragile away somewhere it would be safe.
I didn't push. Just sat with him until he was ready to go back.
After a while he picked the letter up and folded it and slid it back into the envelope and set it on the nightstand. He pressed his palms flat on his thighs and took a long breath.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He looked at me sideways. “Can we go back out there? I want — I need the noise for a minute.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Come on.”
We went back out into the kitchen and the party folded around us like it had never stopped. Poppy appeared immediately, leaning into Soren's side with the ease of someone who didn't need a reason, and he wrapped an arm around her and kept it there. Micah caught my eye across the room and I gave him a small nod that said everything was okay, or okay enough, and he went back to his conversation without asking.
The party stretched into the evening. Food appeared from various sources — my mom had brought lasagna, June had contributed some kind of elaborate salad, and Tate had shown up with enough pizza to feed a small army. We ate standing up and sitting on the floor and crowded around the kitchen island, and the noise level suggested nobody was planning to leave anytime soon.
My dad cornered me near the coffee maker and pulled me into a hug that lasted long enough to be embarrassing.
“Proud of you, kid,” he said when he finally let go. “That interview this morning took guts.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
