“Then why did Mom accuse you of cheating?”
He scratches the back of his ear. “Well, I sought comfort from the church while we were going through our last rough patch—when your mother was on another one of her benders.” His face tinges pink. “And I started going to a divorce care group shortly after she served me those papers. That’s where I met Francine.”
I swallow.
He clears his throat. “But we were just friends, Evie. Honest to goodness. We only started dating after the divorce was finalized.”
I collapse onto the couch beside him again. “I believe you.”
A beat of silence passes. “I know you miss your mother,” he says, squeezing my knee. “You have every right to. But she wasn’t . . . well.” He pauses, hesitating. “And neither were you—after she left.”
Here we go.I hang my head, covering my face as I let the tears go. There’s no point in stopping them. The grief will manifest in unhealthier ways if I don’t.
“That’s why I had you admitted,” he confesses quietly. “I know you resent me for that. But I was worried about you, Genevieve. You were showing signs of depression—signs I saw in your mother. Signs I often ignored, if I’m being honest. I didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes with you.” His voice quavers. “I was scared. Especially when I found out you were harming yourself. You were my little girl. You were always so happy, and then you just . . . changed. Overnight, it seemed. I worried you might try and commit suicide. Annie had threatened that so many times. So I did what I thought any good parent should do and tried to get you help before it was too late.”
Heartbroken, I curl into his side. Dad wouldn’t talk to me about Mom after she left—even though she was all I thought about. I was always a Mommy’s girl, but suddenly, my mother was nowhere to be found. I kept asking him questions he couldn’t answer, constantly pressing him for information about her whereabouts. It put a rift in our otherwise close relationship.
I assumed Dad pulled away from me because I reminded him of her. I believed he sent me to that psych hospital to sweep my issues under the rug. After dealing with Mom’s struggles for so long, I genuinely believed he couldn’t be bothered to deal with mine. Or me in general.
Turns out he was just trying to be a good parent.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” The weight of my guilt is unbearable. It presses in from every angle. “I’ve been a terrible daughter.”
He squeezes me close. “You haven’t.”
“Yes, I have. I’ve been awful to you. And Francine. For nothing.”
I sit up, realizing a dire, embarrassing truth; I run from pain and discomfort. That flaw has manifested itself as pushing loved ones away. Emotionally isolating myself. At times, I’ve even taken a blade to my skin to inflict physical pain to numb the emotional. But if I had just taken the time totalkto Dad—or Brandon, for that matter—perhaps my relationships with them need not have suffered.
Instead, I made them my enemies.
He chuckles. “It’s all in the past.”
“You’d really forgive me that easily?”
“Seventy times seven, Genevieve.”
These days, it always seems to be some popular Bible adage that brings me an inexplicable amount of peace and comfort—and this moment is no exception.
“Besides, you’re my daughter,” he continues. “That means I will love you forever, unconditionally. No matter what you do or how you feel about me, I will love you, and I will never turn you away. You’re always welcome here, in my arms.”
Silent tears slide down my cheeks. His arm tightens around me, as if he knows how badly I needed to hear those words. Sinking deeper into the comfort of my father’s embrace, I breathe in the musky, familiar smell of him.
How many of his hugs have I missed out on because of my stubbornness? My stupidity?
I don’t know, and I don’t care to know.
But I vow to never miss another.
Chapter 41
Brandon
“Ijustthoughtyoushouldknow that I’ve started seeing a therapist.” Those are the first words out of Evie’s mouth when I open my front door to find her loitering on my porch. My security camera alerted me to her frantic pacing. She’s wearing a leather skirt over a pair of lace tights, shivering as she blows air into her cupped hands.
She must be freezing.
I move aside. “Come in.”
