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“Who?”
“Ava and her mom, they left overnight. They’re gone, Dad.”
“Connor,” he breathes out, sitting down next to me. “Gosh, son, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, look down at my hands, and sniff back the heat burning behind my eyes. And then I let out the words I’ve been holding on to for years: “What’s so wrong with me, Dad?” I face him, my eyes clouded. “Why do they keep leaving me?”
“Oh, Connor, no…” he sighs out, his arm going around me, pulling me to him. “This is not about you. Ava’s pain—”
“And what about Mom’s?” I ask around the lump in my throat. “Was Mom’s pain so bad that she had no other choice? Because I’m trying to work through all this and I’m trying not to take it personally like everyone keeps fucking telling me to do, but how? How the fuck can I not do that?”
“What’s happening with Ava is not the same—”
“Are you sure?” I ask, accusing. “Because Mom said to ask you about what happened back then.”
His eyes widen in shock. “What the hell are you talking—”
“She found me,” I interrupt.
Anger blazes in his eyes, and he releases me. He stands, his fists balled at his sides. I tilt my head, look up at him as he paces the room. Three steps one way, three steps back. “How? When?!”
“Answer me!” I yell, years of withheld anger and frustration and unasked questions pumping through my veins. I get to my feet. “What did you do to make her—”
“Nothing!”
“Then why?” I cry out, unable to hold it in any longer. “Why did she hate me so much she wanted me dead?”
Dad takes me in his arms again, as if I’m three years old asking the same goddamn question.
I push him away. “Your hugs aren’t going to fix it, Dad. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m eighteen, and I deserve the fucking truth!”
He swallows, and I can see the fear in his eyes.
“Tell me!”
Dad shakes his head, his eyes drifting shut.
“Dad, please. I need to know,” I beg. “I need to understand so I can stop feeling this.” I press a hand to my chest. “Do you know what it feels like to think that something is broken inside you?”
When he opens his eyes again, liquid pain flows from their depths. “It was never about you, son. She did it to hurt me.”
“Why?”
He grasps his hair, his eyes to the ceiling as his chest rises. Falls. Again and again. “She did it because I told her I was in love with someone else.”
My stomach drops. “You were cheating on her?”
His eyes meet mine again, and he nods once. “Yes.” Then he seems to release a breath he’d been holding on to for years. “With another man.”
Everything inside me stills.
Every memory.
Every moment.
Every laugh.
Every cry.
