Insignificant. Forgettable. Small.
Exactly what I feel coming back here. Exactly why I never do.
Don’t even know where I’m going, just that I couldn’t stand to be in my piece-of-shit apartment for one more second. I’m exhausted, and reeling from what happened the other day.Barely slept, too caught up in an endless cycle ofwhat-ifs, what-the-fucks, and denial.
After the social worker left, I spent an hour checking and rechecking my emails—making sure I didn’t miss anything. Nothing from Summit County, DCFS, or any other official notification about the shitshow that was about to rain down on me.
Rest of the night, I mindlessly cleaned the hell out of my house, not stopping until I passed out on my couch.
Threw the fucking thing out back and lit it on fire after that, like I could burn away the judgement that’d filled my apartment hours before.
Didn’t work. My demons remained, and my reality never shifted. Still hasn’t.
Marlee is dead.
The thought is a slow burn, a dull ache that builds in the back of my throat.
I think back to the girl who used to curl into my side on late summer nights, the one who knew exactly how to sneak out without waking her grandma. The girl who made me believe forever was something we could actually have, before she decided my life was too small.
Marlee was sunshine and laughter. Vibrant, and reckless. She was the girl who sat on the hood of my truck, counting clouds and dreaming up impossible futures.
And for a while, she was my whole damn world, until she turned it upside down and destroyed it.
But that was a lifetime ago, and no matter how much I loved her back then, we were never meant to survive the kind of storms that tear through South Dakota.
I adjust my grip on the familiar steering wheel, stretching my right leg as much as I can in the cab that still somehow smellslike my dad. The deep ache in my thigh doesn’t lessen, but it pales in comparison to the incessant throbbing in my chest.
Truth is, I haven’t thought about Marlee like this in years. Not since the worst of it. Not since I finally stopped waking up angry.
Her name became a ghost that only haunted me when the nights got too long, and the whiskey wasn’t strong enough. But it didn’t linger. And eventually, her memory faded. I moved on. She moved away like she said she would. Apparently got married and had a baby.
A baby.
Aurora. Not even a year old, and in the fucking hospital.
Why the hell would Marlee leave her kid to me of all people? We haven’t talked in years—never even tried.
After her letter, I may have re-upped my contract, but my information never changed. She could have reached out. Could have gotten word to me if she’d changed her mind, or fuck, just wanted to talk. But she didn’t, and neither did I. After a while, I stopped thinking about her, and assumed she did the same.
Doesn’t make any fucking sense.
A baby. A guardian. A father.
Makes me think of my own dad.
How he’d roughhouse with Hazel, Gemma, and me while simultaneously cuddling baby Clem or Colby to his chest. How he effortlessly guided us, taught us, and loved us, while also taking care of our mom and an entire massive farm production.
My dad was a superhero.
And I…am not.
There’s a deep, painful itch in my soul to pick up the phone and make a call that’ll never get answered. To talk to him. To ask him what the hell I’m supposed to do. Almost did it that night after Georgia left. Had the phone in my hand, his number a memory under my fingertips. Dialed it out—got far enough toknow his phone’s still in service for some asinine reason. Maybe for business, or just my mom’s way to keep him close.
Either way, the sound of his voice scared the shit out of me, and I disconnected.
My heavy eyes stray from the road ahead to the rolling greens of early spring. With a slow exhale, I crank the window down, letting the familiar scent of damp earth fill the cab and wash everything away.
The air is thick with the fresh bite of new grass, the faint sweetness of budding wildflowers, and the sharp, clean tug of rain that hasn’t yet fallen. Somewhere in the distance, the scent of tilled soil lingers, earthy and deep, mixing with the subtle smokiness of burn piles fading into the land.
