Page 4 of The Art of Ruin

I understand this now: people will let you love them inside a lie if it protects their comfort.

I won’t.

When my flight is called, I stand and walk forward without looking back.

I don’t know where my life is going yet.

Only that I’m done trusting words without proof.

1.Adriano

Letty wakesup before the alarm. She always does. My girl is a creature of habit, just like me. The need for routine is something we share.

I hear the rhythm of her bare feet against the hallway floor, first uneven, quick, then a small stumble before she corrects without stopping. There’s a soft thud against the wall halfway down, but she doesn’t slow.

Then—

“Daddy!”

She bursts through the door and launches at me before I can turn.

Her small body ploughs into me full force. Arms tightening around my waist, face pressed into my thigh like she’s anchoring herself there. The pan hisses sharply behind me, bacon grease hissing and spitting and filling the kitchen with a delicious scent.

I steady us without thinking, one hand braced on the counter, the other dropping to her back. A rare feeling of peace washes over me. Only a very few people can evoke it, but nobody does it like Letty. She’s my reason for every breath I take.

Shaking off the melancholy, I glance down at her. “You’re up early,” I say.

“I woke up,” she says into my pant leg, voice muffled, like that explains everything.

“That tends to happen every day, I’m happy to say.”

She squeezes tighter, a giggle erupting even though she doesn’t really understand what I mean or the relief behind it.

I let her stay there a second longer than I need to before I bend and lift her, my hands sliding under her arms, bringing her up easily.

She settles immediately.

Arms around my neck. Legs tucked in close. Her cheek presses against my shoulder, still warm from sleep. Her hair brushes my jaw—soft, tangled, carrying the faint sweetness of her shampoo.

Apple.

I close my eyes for a second.

Just long enough to feel it.

Then I open them and reach past her, turning the heat down before the bacon burns.

“You beat the alarm,” I tell her.

“I always do, Daddy.”

I look at her. “You’re very sure about that.”

“I am,” she insists, pulling back enough to look at me, her mouth already tilting into a cheeky smile.

I smooth a hand over her hair, pressing down the worst of the knots.That’s going to be fun to wrangle into a braid this morning. I love her confidence. I want my daughter to be fierce, and kind, gentle, and brave, but mostly I want her to be who she is without having to apologize or dim her light. I kiss her head and she snuggles closer. These moments with her are the best part of every day for me, but unfortunately, they’re short.

“Stay up here,” I say, setting her on the counter far enough from the stove that she can’t reach it, close enough that she can still see everything.