Maybe this was my fault.
Like, maybe if I had done something differently, he would still be here.
I glance sideways at Elijah.
I know he's worried. Worried I’ll hate him for bringing me here. That I’ll think he pushed me into something I wasn't ready for.
But the truth is the exact opposite. I needed this, even though it's painful.
Sooner or later, I had to stop running and finally face what I've been blaming myself for ever since he died.
“He would be so proud of you, baby. I know I am.”
Elijah is wiping away the tears that I hadn't even realised had fallen. His gaze is soft, full of adoration, protectiveness and something a lot like love. But he can't love me; he's not said it, and who could love someone broken?
I swallow hard. I don’t deserve it. I don't deserve him. But I want him, and somehow, he wants me back. There's no way I could be standing here, facing all of this, without him holding me.
The first memory that pops into my mind spills out before I can stop it. “On our birthdays, we used to eat cake for breakfast. He couldn't cook, and he was terrible at cleaning. And even though he couldn't dance, he let me dance on his feet when I was little.”
I laugh softly, the sound bitter and sweet at the same time, and the memory warms me. So many little perfect moments, all tucked in the corners of my mind, refusing to fade. I don't want to forget them.
Elijah shifts closer, and I can feel the quiet encouragement in his presence, letting me open up without forcing it.
“He once made me a sandwich with peanut butter, pickles, and cheese. I actually got sick from it,” he adds with a slight smile.
“That sounds disgusting.”
“Believe me, it was. I never knew anyone to be so bad at making anything, but he made up for it in other ways.”
I get what he means.
My dad was kind. Funny. Patient. He had to be, raising me all on his own. He worked himself to the bone and never once complained. So when he needed me, I never hesitated to do the same for him.
But the thought still claws at me, trying to split me open.
“God… he hates me,” I croak, my voice barely more than a whisper, like saying it louder might make it true. I feel it deep in my chest, my soul, that I let him down.
Elijah grips my hand. “That man could never hate you. You were his whole world.”
I let go, turning to face him. My eyes burn. “You don't understand. I wasn't there… not when he needed me the most.”
“From what River told me, you were there. Every single second. So don't you dare say that.”
I sniffle, bitter and raw. I was there, in my own way. Nobody else could have been. I was all he had because he wouldn't let anyone else in. And Rose, well, she ruined that for him.
I hate her.
Bile rises in my throat as I scan the words etched into the stone.
Beloved father, friend, and son, taken too early. Will forever be loved.
He was stolen from us by a cruel, merciless disease, one he never deserved. And I can't help the trembling anger and heartbreak that ripples through me.
Fuck cancer.
Fuck Rose.
Fuck god if he's even real.
