Page 16 of Glass Wings

The words hit heavier than they should have. Not because they’re new, but because they’re being said here, at a family’s dinner table … in front of Harley.

Harley stiffens; her voice quiet but firm. “Dad …”

I force myself to meet his eyes, my jaw tight. “I’ve made mistakes. I’m not proud of them. But I’m not that man anymore.”

Her mother sighs. “Easton, we’re not trying to attack you.” She folds her napkin with deliberate care, like neat corners can soften the blow of her words. “We just want Harley to have a steady life. A man who can take care of her. Someone who doesn’t carry … all that history. Imagine what people will say to your children once they hear? It’s not a life I want for my child or my grandchildren.”

Harley’s nails dig into my palm. I stare at the half-empty plate in front of me, fighting the urge to slam my fist on the table. Because the worst part is, they aren’t wrong. My record is real. And no matter how hard I fight to be different; it will always be a shadow Harley has to live under.

Before I can open my mouth, Harley’s voice cuts through the air. “Well then maybe you should’ve been more active in my life. You didn’t even come to my graduation.”

The words crack like glass, sharp and unexpected.

Her father shifts, his fork clinking against his plate. “We had another obligation that weekend. I thought you understood that. Your mother’s work is very important.” His gaze slides past me, fixing on Harley like she’s the one on trial now.

Harley’s jaw trembles, but her eyes burn with something I don’t see from her often enough. Fire. “Mom’s work has always been important. And it’s always come before me.”

The silence after her words is louder than any shout. Her mother’s lips part, like she wants to argue, but no excuse comes. And all I can do is sit there, my chest heavy.

Her mother’s fork hovers, then lowers to the plate with a soft clink. “You know my job isn’t like most. Weddings don’t wait, Harley. I don’t get to cancel on a bride’s big day because my daughter has a recital or a graduation ceremony. Couples rely on me, and if I let them down, I lose everything I’ve built.”

I look around the room, the neat furniture, the carefully chosen décor, the little touches that say comfortable, not lavish. This isn’t a house dripping in money. It’s held together by a mother’s long hours, late nights, and weekends sacrificed for a strangers perfect day.

Harley’s voice cracks, brittle with years of swallowed hurt. “You gave everyone else their dream wedding, but you couldn’t even show up for me. Not once. You chose strangers over your own daughter, Mom. Every. Single. Time.”

Her father clears his throat, uncomfortable, like he is trying to steady the table. “We gave you stability, Harley. A roof over your head. Food on the table. Do you think that came without sacrifice?”

I feel Harley’s grip on my hand tighten, her nails biting into my skin. Her father thinks he’s making sense, but every word only digs the knife deeper. Because for Harley, it has never been about the roof or the food. It was every empty seat in the audience, every birthday cake with one parent missing, every milestone overshadowed by someone else’s vows.

And all I can do is sit there, burning, while the woman who raised my Little Bird explains why her clients’ “happiest day” has always been more important than her own child.

Harley’s voice wavered but she doesn’t back down. “Do you even realize what it did to me? Sitting alone at school plays, hearing every other kid point to their mom in the crowd while mine was at a wedding, for people I’ll never even meet? You gave me everything except yourselves, when all I needed was you.”

Her mother’s hands freeze in her lap, napkin twisting tight between her fingers. For the first time, she looks … unsteady. Her father shifts in his chair again, his mouth opening and closing, like the words are too heavy to drag out.

Finally, her mom whispers, “Harley … I didn’t know. I thought—I thought you understood why I worked so hard.”

“I understood,” Harley shoots back, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I just learned early that I didn’t come first. Not even close.”

Silence falls heavy across the table. I want to say something, to cut in, to take the weight off her, but it isn’t my place. This is her moment. And she is stronger than she thought.

Her dad cleared his throat, softer this time. “We messed up. More than we realized. But we don’t want it to stay this way. If you’ll let us … we want to do better. To try.”

Harley blinks at them, like she doesn’t quite trust the words. Her lips tremble, but she stays silent. She just nods once, sharp, like that is all she can give. “Leave Easton alone, his past isn’t perfect, but he was framed. And he doesn’t deserve your judgement.”

The rest of dinner is quiet, hollow words about work and the weather filling the spaces where wounds have been torn open. By the time we stand to leave, Harley looks pale, drained, like she poured out pieces of herself she can’t get back.

She holds it together until the car doors close and the seatbelt clicks. Then the dam breaks. Her shoulders shake, silent at first, then full, ragged sobs that tear out of her.

I pull her against me, her tears soaking my shirt, my own chest tight with a fury I can’t aim anywhere. Smoothing a hand down her hair, I wish could take all the years of hurt and fold them into something small, something forgettable.

But I can’t.

All I can do is hold her in the dark, whispering the only promise I know I can keep.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harley. Not ever again.”

I feel gutted now, remembering that night in the car. How Harley broke in my arms while I whispered, over and over, that I’d never leave her. I’d sworn I wasn’t going anywhere; sworn I’d never let her feel abandoned again. And yet here I am, locked behind bars with nothing but concrete walls and regret, holding the blurry ultrasound picture of our baby.