Prologue
— Do you remember when you tried to build that treehouse in the backyard? — my dad chuckled, his voice warm and amused, pulling me back into a memory I hadn’t thought of in years.
The sun was setting, casting a soft, golden glow over the park, and we sat together on a worn wooden bench under an old oak tree. I could feel the comfort of his arm stretched along the top of the bench, his steady warmth beside me like the safest place in the world. He looked at me with that glint in his eyes – the one that said he saw me not just as his daughter, but as someone who could take on anything.
I rolled my eyes, laughing. — Of course, I remember. I was five, and I did it all by myself.
Dad snorted. — Sure, “all by yourself”. Except that it looked like a pile of sticks. I barely slept that week, thinking it was going to collapse on you.
I nudged him.
— Hey, it had a roof and everything! And it didn’t fall, did it?
He chuckled, shaking his head. — Alright, fair enough. It didn’t fall. But don’t go thinking you’re ready to build a house just yet.
I laughed, and he reached over, ruffling my hair. — You’re a little dreamer, aren’t you? Always trying to make the impossible happen.
I relaxed beside him, looking out over the quiet park. Moments like these felt like they could stretch on forever, safe and warm, wrapped in his voice and the laughter that was never far between us.
— Remember that one summer at the beach house? — I asked suddenly, a memory surfacing from nowhere. — Mom tried to make us all play volleyball, but she kept tripping in the sand? And you… you tried so hard not to laugh at her.
His laughter died down slowly, and something in his face changed, so slight I almost missed it – the light in his eyes dimmed, the warmth of his smile faded. He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly as if he were holding something back.
— Yeah, I remember, — he said, his voice softer now, quieter.
The silence that followed felt heavy, like a storm cloud looming just out of sight. I watched him, a strange feeling building in my chest, something between worry and confusion.
— Did… did I say something wrong? — I asked gently, my voice barely a whisper.
He cleared his throat, glancing back at me with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. — No, Isa, nothing like that. Sometimes… well, sometimes memories are more complicated than they seem.
I didn’t understand what he meant, but the way his smile vanished... it unsettled me, made my heart feel heavy in a way I couldn’t explain. I tried to read his face, searching for an answer in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his gaze drifted, lost in thoughts he didn’t want to share. The feeling gnawed at me, like I’d touched something fragile without realizing it.
Still, I tried to brush it off. I wanted to hold onto the easy warmth, the laughter we shared. But there was something about his silence that felt final, as if he was carrying a weight that was too big to share, a pain he wanted to protect me from. I wanted to ask him, to understand, but I didn’t know how to reach across that silence. Instead, I just sat there, leaning into him, hoping my presence was enough to lighten whatever burden he was hiding.
Only now, looking back, the pieces began to fit. It was as if that memory had finally revealed its edges, and I understood. He’d been holding onto so much more than he ever let me see, pain tucked between his smiles. He must have known – about Mom and everything that happened, the weight of it settling into the spaces between us. I hadn’t realized it then, but I did now.
I sat there, the memory with my dad still lingering like a fog around me, thick and unshakable. I wanted to cling to the warmth of that day in the park, to remember him as he’d always been with me: gentle, loving, always quick with a laugh or a smile. But another memory slipped through, one I’d tried to bury deep, a day that had altered everything.
I clung to the wall, listening as my dad’s voice rang out like I’d never heard before, cutting, sharp, wounded. The calm, loving man who’d always been my rock was gone, replaced by someone burning with betrayal. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe as I stayed hidden on the staircase, just out of sight, each word like a blade, carving the memory deep into my mind.
— So… what, this was just something to pass the time?! — he spat, his voice laced with raw fury. — Just a game to you?!
There was silence, thick and unbearable, before my mom’s voice broke through, quivering. — I’m sorry… please, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It’s not what you think.
— Not what I think?! — His laugh was cold, hollow. — You think that makes it any better? That somehow, it’s less because you didn’t mean for it to happen? We built a life together! We built a family. And you, — he paused, his voice trembling, — you’ve burned it all to the ground without a second thought.
I could practically feel the weight of his pain from where I hid, every word thick with anger and something far worse – devastation. I closed my eyes, wishing I could shut out the sound, but it was like I was frozen, every part of me hanging on his next words.
— You… you disgust me, — he finally said, voice shaking. — I’ve looked at you, day in and day out, thinking I knew you. Thinking that no matter what, you’d always be by my side, for Isadora… for us. But now, all I see is a stranger. A stranger who tore apart everything good we had.
There was a pause, a tension so thick I felt suffocated by it. My mom’s voice came next, softer, like she was barely holding it together. — Please, don’t… don’t do this. We can fix this. We can find a way—
— Fix this?! — he cut her off, his voice like ice. — You can’t just glue back the pieces of a broken family, like this was some small mistake. You destroyed us. Destroyed me. And for what? For some fling? Some… coworker who meant nothing compared to the life we had?
The words hung in the air, filled with raw bitterness, and I felt a chill run through me, my heart pounding. I heard him inhale sharply, as though trying to steady himself, but it was no use.
— Do you know what you’ve done to Isadora? — he demanded, voice rising again. — Do you know how she’ll look at you once she finds out? You’ve stolen her chance at a whole family. You’ve stolen her chance at trusting her own mother. You’ve taken all of that from her, just to satisfy whatever… whatever this was.
She didn’t respond. Or maybe she couldn’t. But I felt a rush of heat rising in me – anger, resentment, all directed at her. How could she have risked everything? How could she have shattered everything we were?
And then, finally, his voice softened, but it was somehow worse than all the yelling, all the accusations. — You killed the only thing that mattered, — he whispered. — I would have done anything for this family. Anything for her. And you —his voice broke — you took it all away.
I heard the harsh scrape of his shoes on the floor, and the next thing I knew, the door slammed so hard the walls seemed to shake. I stayed there, crouched on the staircase, numb, my breath caught in my throat as the echo of his last words hung heavy in the air.
A shiver ran through me as I slowly uncurled from my hiding spot, my heart pounding as I glanced around the corner. And there she was, my mother, slumped against the wall, her face buried in her hands, muffling the soft, choked sobs that filled the silence.
In that moment, something within me shifted.
The memory of that night faded, but the emotions it left behind didn’t. Every morning, I felt that same anger churn beneath the surface, tinged with a dull ache, a bitterness that was sharpest when I looked at her. It was like facing a stranger disguised as my mother – the woman I once loved, respected, trusted without question. And yet, she was still my mother, and that strange mix of love and resentment twisted me up inside.
So, I left the house early. Every day, as quietly as I could. I could never bring myself to look her in the eyes, not without feeling that anger flare up again. Leaving before she was even awake, avoiding that hollow morning silence between us, had become my only way to cope.
But every morning, just as I reached for the door, a wave of pain hit me. The last time I’d heard my dad’s voice, his footsteps, his laughter… if it weren’t for that fight, for her betrayal, he would still be here.
I swallowed down the familiar ache, letting the memories press down until they dulled. It was easier that way, to keep them bottled up and hidden, even as they gnawed away at me.
I thought of that night, the sound of the door slamming, and the next time I saw him: on the news. His face on a screen, splattered with blood. Blood that made my stomach twist whenever I saw it, that same image etched into my mind as if burned there. It was his eyes that haunted me the most, though. They looked distant, like he wasn’t really there, but I knew better. I’d seen enough news stories, heard enough whispers. He was gone because of her. Because she tore our family apart, and he left in a rage, speeding off, reckless, and then…
I pushed the thought away. It was too painful, too maddening. I didn’t like the feeling – the cold resentment, the fury that followed me everywhere. But what could I do? I could barely bring myself to speak to her, to pretend that things were alright. There were no more shared cups of coffee, no lingering conversations about our day. Our words were hollow now, fragile, forced.
I knew she was trying, I could see it in the way she watched me when she thought I wasn’t looking. But every time she opened her mouth, every time I caught her gaze, I remembered the way she’d broken everything. And I hated her for it.
But then, I’d feel a pang, deep down, one that I couldn’t shake no matter how much I wanted to. I missed her, the way she used to be, before I knew. I missed having a mother I could lean on, someone I could trust, someone who didn’t make me feel… this.
But that version of her was gone, buried beneath betrayal and broken promises, and no matter how much I wished things were different, there was no going back.
