Seven Hours to Moore View

Melanie's POV

I had learned how to keep my life moving by never stopping long enough to think about it properly.

That was the trick.

Not balance. Not happiness. Not even stability, really. Just momentum.

If I kept answering emails while cooking dinner, folding laundry while helping Lilly colour in pictures at the kitchen table, checking work notifications while pretending I wasn’t mentally calculating bills in the background, then everything stayed manageable. Barely. My entire life functioned on “barely.” Barely enough sleep. Barely enough money left at the end of the month. Barely enough energy to get through another day pretending I wasn’t completely exhausted all the time.

Most evenings blurred together like that.

By six o’clock, my laptop was still open on the kitchen counter while pasta boiled on the stove beside me. My inbox sat overflowing with messages marked urgent, each one somehow demanding immediate attention from people who probably thought working remotely meant I spent my days comfortably drinking coffee in silence instead of trying to stop my five-year-old from sticking stickers to the radiator.

“Mommy,” Lilly called from the living room, “Princess Banana is sick again.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

Princess Banana was a stuffed monkey she’d renamed three months ago and carried around like an emotional support celebrity.

“What happened this time?” I asked while stirring the pasta without really looking at it.

“She fell down the stairs.”

“There aren’t any stairs.”

“There were pretend stairs.”

“Right,” I murmured. “Of course.”

A small pair of sock-covered feet appeared at the kitchen doorway seconds later, followed by Lilly herself clutching the monkey dramatically against her chest.

“She needs medicine,” she informed me seriously.

“Mmm.” I glanced down at her. “How serious is it?”

Lilly frowned as though considering a medical chart. “Medium serious.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

She climbed onto one of the kitchen stools while I reached automatically for my mug of coffee before remembering it had gone cold over an hour ago. Again.

Lilly watched me carefully while swinging her legs against the cabinet doors.

“You look tired,” she announced.

I let out a quiet laugh through my nose. “That’s because I am tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

The words weren’t cruel, which somehow made them worse.

I looked over at her properly then, at her tangled blonde hair and oversized jumper sleeves and the complete honesty only children seemed capable of. Lilly noticed everything. Even the things I tried my hardest to hide.

“I’m okay, baby,” I said softly.

She narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t fully believe me. Then, thankfully, she became distracted by the pasta bubbling over on the stove.

“It’s foaming!”

“Yeah,” I sighed, grabbing the pan before it spilled completely. “That tends to happen when Mommy forgets things.”

Which lately felt like everything.

I moved around the kitchen automatically after that, finishing dinner while Lilly provided a running commentary about Princess Banana’s recovery progress. The flat around us looked lived-in in the way places did when there wasn’t enough time to keep up with life properly. Laundry sat unfolded on the sofa. Toys occupied most available floor space. My laptop charger tangled itself around unopened letters on the counter beside half-empty cups of coffee I kept forgetting to finish.

It wasn’t messy exactly. Just tired. Like me.

After dinner, I finally managed to answer a few more work emails while Lilly coloured quietly beside me at the table.

“What are you drawing?” I asked absently while typing.

“You.”

I laughed, “that’s brave.”

She giggled.

I glanced over eventually and saw a chaotic stick figure with giant hair holding what looked suspiciously like a sword. “Why do I have a weapon?”

“You’re fighting monsters.”

Something about the answer made my chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Am I winning?”

Lilly looked at the picture seriously before nodding once. “Mostly.”

I smiled faintly at that, even though something about it hurt a little too.

By the time bedtime finally arrived, I felt like I’d already lived through three separate days. Lilly insisted on two stories instead of one because apparently “Tuesday energy” required it, and by the time she finally settled beneath her blankets clutching Princess Banana against her chest, my head was pounding.

“Stay until I fall asleep,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I always do.”

“You promise?”

I brushed her hair gently back from her forehead. “Promise.”

Her eyes drifted closed slowly after that, breathing evening out into a soft sleepy rhythm while I sat beside her bed staring vaguely at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck across the ceiling.

This was my life. Small. Exhausting. But safe. And I had worked unbelievably hard to make it that way. No chaos. No unpredictability. No alcohol-fuelled shouting echoing through walls at midnight. No wondering what version of somebody would walk through the door.

Just me and Lilly.

That was enough. It had to be.

I was just starting to feel myself drift when my phone rang from the kitchen.

I frowned immediately. Nobody called that late unless it mattered.

Carefully, I slipped out of Lilly’s room and grabbed the phone from the counter before the ringing woke her up.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it, until I noticed the area code.

And everything inside me went still.

For a second, I genuinely just stared at the screen while the phone continued vibrating in my hand.

Moore View.

I hadn’t seen that area code in years. I hadn’t wanted to.

The ringing continued.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself, though I wasn’t sure whether I meant to answer it or let it stop.

Eventually, I pressed accept.

“Hello?”

There was a brief crackle on the line before a man’s voice answered.

“Is this Melanie Griffiths?”

My stomach tightened immediately.

“Yes.”

“This is Dr. Harris from Moore View Medical Centre.”

I leaned heavily against the kitchen counter without meaning to.

Moore View.

Even hearing the name out loud felt strange, like reopening something I’d spent years trying to keep buried.

“I’m calling regarding your father, Tony Griffiths.”

I closed my eyes briefly. Of course it was about him. Somehow, deep down, I think I’d known that before I even answered.

“What about him?” I asked quietly.

There was a pause. The careful kind.

“His condition has worsened significantly.”

I stared down at the dark kitchen floor while my grip tightened slightly around the phone.

“What condition?”

Another pause.

Then gently, “Alcohol-related liver disease.”

The words settled heavily inside my chest, though not because they shocked me. Nothing about my father drinking shocked me anymore. That part had been inevitable for years.

“What does ‘worsened’ mean?” I asked.

“It means he’s very unwell, Melanie.”

I swallowed hard.

Dr. Harris continued carefully, clearly choosing his words. “He’s showing signs of jaundice, severe fatigue, fluid retention... his liver function has deteriorated quite badly over the last several months.”

I pressed my free hand against my forehead. The kitchen suddenly felt too quiet. Behind me, the clock ticked steadily on the wall while the fridge hummed softly and somewhere down the hallway Lilly shifted in her sleep.

Life continuing. Completely unaware that mine had just tilted sideways.

“Okay,” I said eventually, though the word barely sounded like me.

“He’s struggling to manage on his own.”

That made something sharper rise in my chest immediately. “Hasn’t he always?” The bitterness slipped out before I could stop it.

Dr. Harris hesitated. Not uncomfortable exactly. Just aware. “I understand there may be... complicated history there.”

Complicated.

That was one way to describe growing up with Tony Griffiths.

“I haven’t spoken to him properly in years,” I said quietly.

“I understand.” No judgment. “He needs support,” Dr. Harris continued gently. “And as far as we’re aware, you’re the only family he has.”

I laughed once under my breath. Short. Humourless. Of course I was.

The silence stretched for a moment before I finally asked the question I already knew the answer to. “How bad is it?”

Another pause.

Then honestly, “Bad enough that I think you should come soon.”

The words landed softly. But they stayed.

I turned slightly and looked down the hallway toward Lilly’s bedroom door.

Seven hours away.

That was how far I’d moved after leaving Moore View.

Seven hours between me and the life I grew up in.

Seven hours between my daughter and everything I’d spent years protecting her from.

“I can’t just leave,” I said quietly, though already part of me knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“You work remotely, correct?”

I frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

“Your father mentioned it.”

That caught me off guard.

My father talked about me?

The thought felt strangely uncomfortable.

“He mentioned Lilly too,” Dr. Harris added carefully. “He seems very proud of her.”

I closed my eyes again immediately.

That was unfair. Not intentionally. But unfair anyway. Because suddenly I wasn’t angry anymore. I was tired. Deeply, painfully tired.

“I don’t know if going back there is a good idea,” I admitted quietly before I could stop myself.

Dr. Harris didn’t rush to fill the silence afterward. “He’s still your father, Melanie,” he said eventually. “And whether this improves or not... I think you’ll regret it if you stay away completely.”

I hated that he might be right. That was the worst part. Not the guilt itself, but the fact that beneath all the anger and distance and resentment, there was still a part of me that cared enough for guilt to exist at all.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

“Of course.”

The call ended quietly after that. No dramatic goodbye. No reassurance. Just silence.

I lowered the phone slowly and stood there alone in the kitchen for a long moment afterward, staring blankly at nothing while my thoughts crashed into each other too fast to settle properly.

Moore View.

Dad.

Alcoholic liver disease.

Come soon.

I felt sick suddenly. Not panicked. Just... unsteady.

“Mommy?”

I turned quickly. Lilly stood sleepily at the end of the hallway rubbing one eye with her fist while Princess Banana dangled from her other hand.

“You were gone.”

I forced my expression to be softer immediately. “Sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

She shook her head and padded closer until she wrapped her arms sleepily around my waist. “You look sad.”

My throat tightened painfully. I rested my hand gently against the back of her head and closed my eyes for a second.

“I’m okay.”

“Liar,” she mumbled against my jumper.

A surprised laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Excuse me?”

“You say you’re okay when you’re not okay.”

I looked down at her in disbelief. “Who taught you to say things like that?”

“You.”

That one hurt a little too.

I crouched down slowly in front of her. “Do you remember how you said I was fighting monsters earlier?” Lilly nodded seriously. “Well...” I swallowed once. “I think one of them might’ve found me again.”

Her little face scrunched up in concern immediately. “Can I help?”

The simplicity of the question nearly broke me. I pulled her gently into my arms and held her tightly for a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah,” I whispered eventually. “I think you probably can.”

And somewhere beneath the exhaustion and fear and resentment twisting through me, I realised something I’d been trying not to admit since the phone rang.

I was already going back.

I just hadn’t said it out loud yet.