He paused, staring at the ink as if it could answer him.
I know Michigan felt too far. Too quiet. Too much like settling down. I didn’t want to trap you—I just wanted to build something with you. Something steady. Something real. But I see now that maybe I was asking for more than you were ready to give.
The pen trembled slightly in his fingers.
I’m not angry. I promise. I’m just…sad. Sad that I’m here and you’re there, and we’re both pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. I keep thinking about that last morning. The way you kissed me was like you were already halfway gone. I should’ve said more. Or maybe less. I don’t know.
He leaned back, eyes stinging, the lake outside reflecting the stars like scattered memories.
I hope you’re okay. I hope Newport Beach feels like home. I hope you think of me sometimes, even if it’s just in passing. I’ll be here, just feeling every minute of what I had to leave behind.
Love,
Daddy Benson
He folded the letter carefully, slid it into an envelope, sealed it, and tucked it into the drawer beside the desk.
The wind stirred the trees. Inside, Benson sat alone, but not empty. The letter had given shape to the ache. And for tonight, that was enough.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kyle
Newport Beach, California December26th
The next morning, Kyle wandered into a beachside shop and bought a simple navy bathing suit. It reminded him of Daddy Benson—of the way he always gravitated toward deep, calming colors. As he stepped back out into the sun, his phonebuzzed in his pocket. The sound made his heart leap. For a split second, he hoped—really hoped—it was Daddy Benson.
He pulled it out quickly, breath catching, but the screen showed a message from Mr. Greco.
Disappointment settled in his chest like a slow tide. He hadn’t heard from Daddy Benson. Not even a “how are you.” And yet, he kept checking his phone like it might change something.
Mr. Greco had sent pictures—snapshots of the dancers from this week’s Christmas performance. Red velvet, glitter, wide smiles frozen mid-spin. Kyle scrolled through them slowly, each image carefully chosen, each one a reminder of the world he’d left behind.
A second message followed from Mr.Greco:
Everyone misses you. Though we’re all jealous you’re in sunny California and we’re freezing our asses off in the city.
Kyle returned a text.
Thank you so much. That means the world to me. Say hi to everyone.
Kyle’s eyes began to sting. It wasn’t the heat. It was the sudden contrast—how his comings and goings had always felt like background noise, like something people barely noticed. But here was Mr.Greco, taking time to send him photos, to remind him he hadn’t been forgotten.It meant more than he expected. And yet, the one message he truly wanted—the one from Daddy Benson—never came.
He sat down on a bench outside the shop,the ocean stretching wide in front of him, and let the silence settle. He didn’t cry. Not fully. But the ache in his chest was real, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
Kyle wandered down to the boardwalk and found an empty bench facing the ocean. The sun was high, the waves gentle, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen. It should’ve felt peaceful. But inside, Kyle was anything but.
He sat down slowly, the plastic shopping bag crinkling at his side, and pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen, heart already bracing. He opened his messages.
Still nothing.
The text he’d sent the night before sat there, unread. Just a few words. Nothing dramatic. Just “I love you.”But Daddy Benson hadn’t answered. Not even an “I miss you.”
Kyle stared at the screen, the ache in his chest tightening. Maybe Daddy Benson wouldn’t reply. Maybe he was done trying. Maybe Kyle had waited too long, asked for too much space, and now the silence was his answer.
He wanted to hear from him. God, he wanted it more than he wanted anything else. Just a sign that Daddy Benson still cared. Still thought about him.
But calling felt impossible. What if Daddy Benson didn’t pick up? What if he did and sounded distant, cold, like someone who’d already moved on? Kyle wasn’t ready to hear that. He wasn’t readyto feel that final break.
