Page 243 of Happily Never After


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With a trembling finger, I pressplayand bring the phone to my ear.

Chapter Fifty Four

Break Me

“Uh… hi.”

Click.

“I don’t even know why I’m calling. Some uptight social worker showed up a week ago, all fire and fight and freckles. Told me Marlee’s dead. That she left her daughter—her daughter—to me. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t sign up for this. And I wish you were here to tell me what the hell I’m supposedto do. But you’re not. You’re not because you’re dead. And that’s my fault, isn’t it? It’s all my—fuck.”

Click.

“I met her. The baby. Aurora. She’s... God, she’s beautiful. Big brown eyes. Sweet little curls. She looked up at me like I was someone she could trust. Like I mattered. And Georgia? The social worker? She was there too. Smiling at me like she thought I could actually do this. Her smile... it made me forget, for a second, that I’m not a good man. And her laugh? Her laugh could heal a man. But… I don’t deserve to be healed. Not yet. Maybe never.”

Click.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m not built for this kind of responsibility. Aurora deserves someone better. Someone who knows what the hell they're doing. I can barely function, Dad. What kind of man thinks he can raise someone else’s kid when he can’t even fix himself?”

Click.

“Fuck, Dad. I can’t stop thinking about Georgia. She got reassigned. Haven’t seen her in a week and... I miss her. I miss the way she argued with me. It’s stupid. She’s everything I shouldn’t want. A city girl who’ll leave. Someone just passing through on her way to bigger shit. I can’t do that again, but I miss her. And I hate that I do. I hate her. I… fuck. I’m a liar.”

Click.

“Found her on the ground at Wildwood Market today. Thought she was hurt. Turns out she has celiac. Couldn’t even stand. And there I was, ready to burn the place down. Of course it’s the city girl with a gluten allergy who gets stuck in my head when noother woman has held my attention for over a fuckin’ decade. But you should see her, Dad. She’s got this perfect red hair that’s all wild curls and a smile that makes my heart twist. But her freckles… they’re like little starbursts of distraction. She’s dangerous. I’m fucked, aren’t I? Christ.”

Click.

“Aurora is mine. Not officially. Have to apply for adoption, but she’s here in my house. And Georgia? I think she might be mine, too.”

Click.

“Georgia and I were harvesting honey today. She got stung and still didn’t complain. Just smiled. And a while ago, when I was checking her sting, she told Aurora bees only sting when they’re scared…like she really gives a damn about all this—the farm, Aurora, me. She’s teaching me patience, Dad. She’s teaching me how to be more than I am. Think you’d love her. Think I might, too.”

Click.

“Caught her listening to Fleetwood Mac. One of yours and Mom’s songs. My heart stopped. Then she smiled, and I smiled back. It was…. It was nice. Good. She’s so damn good, Pops.”

Click.

“I took her to see the stars, Dad. Spread a blanket, laid under the sky, made love to her with the whole damn universe watching. And I fell. I fell so hard, I’ll never recover. She’s my one. My forever.”

Click.

“There was a fire. Lost a lot of equipment. And the fence got cut again. I don’t know who’s fucking with us, but I swear, I’llprotect the farm. I’ll protect our land. Our family. I’ll do right by you. I, uh… I won’t let you down, Dad.”

Click.

“Aurora tried to walk today. Just let go of the couch and took a step like she trusted the world to catch her. Like she trusted me. I don’t deserve that trust, Dad. But I want to earn it. I want to be someone she can count on.”

Click.

“I’m sorry. For not coming home sooner. For letting my anger keep me away. I blamed myself for your death, but I think you just... missed me. And I missed you too. I miss you every damn day. But I’m letting go of the guilt. I have to. I can’t be a good dad to Aurora if I’m still stuck in the past. I love you, and I forgive myself. Finally.”

Click.

“She kissed me after we picked wildflowers together. Said the smell reminded her of belonging. That was the first time I realized she saw this place as home. And maybe... maybe that means I’m doing something right.”