He pauses, his jaw working. “But then six months later, she did it again. Different man this time. After that, I learned that there had been other indiscretions as well, and I realized she wasn’t going to stop. That our marriage was over.”
Silence falls in the dusty basement for a long moment, but I don’t fill it. I still don’t know what to say, so I just wait for my father to continue.
“When we divorced, your mother fought me on custody. Fought hard.” His hands clench together. “She had a better lawyer, and she convinced the judge that I traveled too much for work, that I couldn’t provide a stable home. She got sole custody, and the visitation agreement was… minimal. Every other weekend, supervised for the first year.”
He looks up at me now, and there are actual tears in his eyes. “But then she started making excuses. You were sick, you had plans with friends, it wasn’t a good time. She didn’t want to let me spend any time with you.”
“That’s not… I didn’t—" I break off, pressing my lips together. “She told me you left us because you didn’t want to be a father anymore. That you chose your freedom over us. Over me.”
Edward nods slowly, his features twisted with regret. “I know. We had agreed to keep the details of our divorce and her infidelity from you. It was too much to put on a kid, too complicated and messy to expect you to understand. But she lied about why I left, made herself the victim. And I…” He swallows hard. “I didn’t fight hard enough to correct it. I thought if I told you the truth, it would destroy your relationship with your mother. That you’d be caught in the middle, forced to choose sides. I didn’t want to do that to you.”
“So you just let me believe you didn’t want me.”
He winces. “I thought it was better than making you hate your mother.” He drags in a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I was protecting you. But I was wrong. I was so damn wrong, and I’m sorry.”
Murphy shifts on my lap, probably sensing the tension in the basement, and I resume petting him absently, my thoughts churning.
“After you moved out of your mother’s house when you turned eighteen, I tried to reach out.” Edward leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I sent a few letters, left voicemails, hoping we could connect now that you were on your own.”
I swallow hard, remembering those attempts he made, and how angry I was when he reached out. I deleted his voicemails without listening and threw away his letters unopened. By that point, I had decided not to let him back into my life, thinking the gesture was too little, too late.
“I didn’t have any idea,” I admit, my voice rough. “About any of it.”
“I should’ve tried harder.” He lifts his head to look at me, his face wan. “Should’ve told you the truth earlier, maybe. Found a way to make you listen. But I didn’t want to make you hate your mother. Didn’t want to turn you against her, even after everything she did.”
I run a hand through my hair, my thoughts a complete mess, my chest bursting with a storm of emotions I can’t sort through.
My mother passed away three years ago from a sudden heart attack, and I mourned losing what felt like the last of my family when she died. But now that I know the truth, my feelings about her are so much more complicated than they were five minutes ago. I’m angry at her for lying to me, for keeping me from my father. But she’s gone, so I can’t even confront her about it or ask her why she did it.
And I can’t believe that I missed out on so many years with my dad for no good reason. Years we could have had if I’d just known the truth, if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn.
“I’m sorry,” I start to say, but he barely lets me get the words out.
“No.” He shakes his head firmly, his wrinkled face tight. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I thought I was handling it the best I could in a bad situation, thought I was doing the right thing by not forcing you to choose. But I never meant for you to feel abandoned. Never wanted you to think I didn’t love you or want you in my life.”
His breath catches, and he swipes a hand over his eyes. “Maybe I should’ve tried harder to bridge the gap. Should’ve showed up at your door and refused to leave until you heard me out. Should’ve made sure you knew how I felt, that you mattered to me. That losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
Those words hit me right in the chest, burrowing into some hole in my heart that’s existed for so long that I stopped even noticing it was there.
I rub my sternum absently as if trying to press against that spot, that wound that feels as if it’s just been torn open and stitched together at the same time. As I do, my thoughts flit to Kat. I’ve been protecting some part of myself this whole time, keeping my walls up. I never told her how I actually feel about her, never put myself on the line, never risked being vulnerable.
I just went along with the fake relationship label even when it stopped feeling fake, because it was safer that way.
The doorbell rings upstairs, the sound echoing down into the basement, and I jump slightly. Murphy meows in protest as I shift him off my lap, his claws catching on my jeans.
My dad clears his throat, wiping his eyes again. “That’ll be Audrey.”
We go upstairs together, my father moving carefully on his crutches. Sure enough, he opens the door to reveal Audrey standing outside, holding another dish covered in foil.
“Hi, Edward,” she says warmly, then notices me. “Oh, Asher. I didn’t know you were here.” She looks at me more closely, concern crossing her face. “Are you okay? You look a bit under the weather.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. My dad invites her inside, and she chatters warmly as he leads us both toward the kitchen.
“Oh, Asher!” She turns to me, as if she’s had a thought that will cheer me up. “You’re father told me you’re dating Kat Sanders. She seems like a sweet girl, I’ve met her parents a few times. I saw her in town the other day at All About Books, talking to some pretty blonde woman.”
I freeze, every muscle in my body going tense, my heart starting to pound. “What?”
