Swear you will do better

You push your chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and then you're on your knees beside her chair. The wooden floor is hard and unforgiving against your knees. This feels right. This feels like where you should be. Not supplicant to a god or a judge, but to your own daughter, the living, breathing consequence of your failures.

"I will," you choke out, the words tasting like ash and promise. "I swear. I'll do better. I'll be better. The secrets end now. All of it."

You look up at her, and for the first time, you're not seeing the stranger, the shoplifter, the college dropout. You're seeing Kyler. Your little girl, who once had a loose tooth she wouldn't let you pull, who cried when her goldfish died, who aced her SATs without even trying. You see all of it, all at once, and the weight of it nearly crushes you.

Her face crumples. The hard shell she's been wearing since she came home shatters, and she's just a scared kid again. A sob rips through her, raw and ragged, and she leans down, burying her face in your shoulder. You hold her, wrapping your arms around her thin frame. You're not just her father anymore. You're her co-conspirator. Her keeper of secrets.

"I don't want to be this person, Daddy," she weeps into your shirt. "I don't know how to stop."

"We'll stop," you whisper, your lips pressed against her hair. "Together." You didn't know if you could though.

You hold her like that for a long time. The sun shifts in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. The garden needs tending. The dishes are in the sink. Life is waiting right outside the door. But in here, in this small, bright kitchen, you have a fragile, terrible, beautiful new truce. You are broken, and she is broken, but maybe it'll all go back to normal.

You kiss Kyler on her head as you carry your legs to your dresser, to the small wooden box where you keep old watches and stray cufflinks. Inside, tucked behind a faded photo of your wedding day, is a business card. Clean, cream-colored stock. Elegant black lettering. ISABELLA REID. ATTORNEY AT LAW. Below, a phone number.

You stare at it. Isabella. You remember her from college. Sharp, witty, with a mind like a scalpel. You haven't spoken in years, not since before you were married. But you know she's good. The best. She's the kind of shark you need to fight another shark. Also a good laid from your memories. You finished up fixing Kyler problems as you prepare for the coming weeks.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster