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"Daddy, are you sad that mommy is going to marry Eric?"
Her words catch me a little by surprise, "Uh… well, Ellie bear. That's difficult for me to answer."
She sighs, "I love Eric, but I don't see why she doesn't marry you. You are my daddy."
I choke back my feelings, "Sometimes it just doesn't work out. It doesn't mean that both of us don't love you."
"You just don't love each other?"
Fuck. This conversation is deep for a six-year-old.
"Well, it's complicated."
"You love her, don't you? Does she not love you?"
"I do love her. Ellie, your mom, is the greatest. None of this is her fault."
"Does she know you love her?"
I think about her question, unsure of that answer. Does she know that I still love her? That I can never stop?
We pull into her house, and she bursts through the door, grabbing her mom around the waist.
Hanna looks upset, her eyes a little red. "Are you alright?"
She shrugs her shoulders, dumping the last of a bottle of wine into the glass. "Yeah."
Liar.
I put Ellie to bed, walking back out to find Hanna buried in her phone. Visibly pushing back tears.
"Hanna? What's wrong?"
"It's my dad. Adam says he's getting worse."
"Worse?" I question, "I didn't realize that he wasn't doing well."
"He has ALS. He was diagnosed last year. He can't run the winery anymore. It's why Adam left."
I close the gap between us, Hanna doesn't show much emotion most of the time, knowing exactly how to bury it, but I can tell this rips her apart.
Her chin tilts upward, her empty blue eyes searching mine. Against my better judgment, I pull her into my embrace. Her head buries into my neck as she sobs quietly. I push the back of her hair down, admiring how perfectly she fits against me.
She breaks away, pushing against my chest. "I'm sorry, I can't… I mean, we can't."
I pull my brows together, "Can't what? You said you wanted to be friends. I don't know how to be friends with you if you won't let me be here for you."
"You fucked me up, Jameson! You are still here, fucking with my head. It's not fair! You spend too much time up here," she points to her brain, "when it definitely should not be on you. It pisses me off because I should hate your guts!"
My heart stalls in my chest, forgetting to do its job.
"But I don't hate you!" She continues, "I fucking don't."
My hands grip her cheeks, wiping away her tears. Even though I know—I fucking know— it will only hurt worse once she walks down the aisle to her husband.
I kiss her.
She melts into me, her lips magnetizing mine. Both of us are unable to pull away. It's like the air changes between us, making me lightheaded.
