I wish I felt it. Most days, it's like a grey cloud is permanently hovering over me, weighing me down.
She grabs two plates from the counter and stops beside me, the warmth of her presence filling the space. “No matter what happens, ye’ve always got a home and family here with us. I’m sure Elijah’s made that clear enough.”
When she leaves me standing in the kitchen, taking some plates myself, I can't help but feel gratitude.
Grateful for them—for the way they’ve welcomed me so completely, so effortlessly, in such a short time. It's strange, really, to feel like I belong somewhere, like I have a place in a family that's not mine by blood, but feels just as real.
Chapter 31
Willow
One year ago
I step inside the house after a night shift at McDonald's, dropping my bag onto the floor with a dull thud and locking the door behind me. The sun is just brushing over the horizon, and I can barely keep my eyes open. My body aches in places I didn't even know could hurt.
The house is quiet. The lights are off. Dad must still be asleep. A small relief runs through me—I might actually get a few hours of sleep before my office shift later.
Two jobs, technically three if you count the dog walking at the weekend. I actually enjoy that one. It's an excuse to take them down to the beach, the cold wind in my face, the waves pounding at my feet. A rare escape from the pain.
With Dad poorly and unable to work at the garage anymore, the bills don't stop just because someone is dying. I know he has enough to cover the mortgage, so I don't have to worry when he's gone, but I wouldn't stay here anyway. I couldn't. Not just because it would be unbearable, but because I wouldn't be able to handle or afford it.
Someone usually comes during the day to help with Dad. He can't manage some things on his own anymore, and some days he forgets the simple things, like the day or who I am.
Night care is too expensive, though, so that's why I work.
Jessica looks after him. She's lovely—calm, capable, and painfully expensive—but Dad likes her, which matters more than anything. I could do it all myself, but she's trained to do this.
I take off my shoes, ready to collapse in bed, when the sound hits me.
Retching.
My heart drops.
I’m moving before I even think, rushing down the hallway and into his room. He's on the floor beside the bed, one hand braced against the mattress, sick pooled on the carpet.
“Dad—what are you doing? Where's Jessica?” My voice comes out tight, already panicked, as I step carefully around the mess and drop to my knees beside him.
“Not here,” he croaks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while I try to ease him upright.
“You've been on your own?” Anger sparks through the fear.
He points shakily toward his phone on the bedside table. “She messaged… last night. Forgot to tell you.”
Guilt overwhelms me.
I grit my teeth, swallowing the urge to explode. He shouldn't have been alone. I would've stayed if I knew.
“Okay,” I say calmly. “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up.”
I reach for him, but he swats my hand away.
“Dad, you need cleaning.” His shirt is stained, clinging to his too-thin frame.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps suddenly. “I can do it myself.”
I flinch before I can stop myself.
He looks so small sitting there. Ashen skin stretched too tight over his cheekbones. Eyes dull where they used to sparkle with happiness and life. Every day, he looks a little less like the man who used to carry me on his shoulders, practice dance lifts with me, or practice for hours to learn how to do plaits in my hair.
