“Yeah.”
Mom’s face tightens. “Did you do something?”
The question slices straight through my ribs.
“No,” I say sharply, then soften because it’s Mom and she doesn’t deserve my edge. “No. I didn’t. She just… left. Freaked out, I guess.”
“She likes you,” Mom says, unwavering. “And that scares her even more, because liking you makes her want to stay, and staying makes her vulnerable.”
I stare at my coffee, searching for answers.
Mom’s voice lowers. “You did do something, though.”
I blink. “What?”
“You let her get close,” she says. Not accusing. Just stating. “Close enough that Lila cares. Close enough that you care. Close enough that leaving hurts again.”
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“You don’t get to choose what you mean to feel,” Mom cuts in. “You only get to choose what you do with it.”
Silence stretches between us. The heater kicks on, humming. Somewhere outside, a door bangs in the wind.
Mom watches me for a moment, then says quietly, “You haven’t looked at me once since you sat down.”
I lift my eyes.
Her face makes my throat tighten. There’s no judgment, just a mother seeing her son bleed and wanting to fix it, even though she knows she can’t.
“Dallas,” she says, softer now. “Talk to me.”
The words crack me open.
I swallow hard, jaw working.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. “I thought… I thought I could handle it. Faith came back, and it felt easy for a minute. Like breathing. Like I remembered who I was before everything went to hell.”
My hands tighten around the mug. “And then she left this morning, and it felt like the same damn wound all over again. I’m standing on Old Mill Road watching her taillights disappear.”
Mom’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t look away.
“And Lila,” I add, breaking on my kid’s name. “Lila already cares. She already misses her. She already thinks she did something wrong when Faith doesn’t show up.” I shake my head. “I can’t do that to her. I can’t?—”
“You can’t let Lila get hurt,” Mom finishes gently.
I nod, hard. “I can’t let someone into our life who’s going to vanish.”
Mom holds my gaze. “Is that what you think Faith is? Someone who vanishes because she doesn’t care?”
I flinch.
“Or do you think she vanishes because she’s terrified and doesn’t know how to stay yet?”
The question hangs in the air.
Because if I’m honest, I know the answer.
Faith never looked indifferent. Not once. Not when she hugged Lila. Not when she laughed at my stupid joke. Not when she kissed me as if she’d been waiting for it and hated herself for wanting it.
