Chapter 12 - MY FATHER FINALLY TOLD ME WHY HE NEVER STOPPED MY MARRIAGE
Dad had a heart attack at seventy-eight.
Mild.
The doctors called it mild.
There is nothing mild about seeing your father connected to monitors.
I sat beside him.
“You're not allowed to die.”
He opened one eye.
“Legally?”
“Yes.”
“You're not my attorney.”
“Unfortunately.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“I owe you an apology.”
“For eating bacon?”
“No.”
“Then later.”
“Now.”
I sighed.
He looked at the ceiling.
“I knew Marcus was controlling.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Not the school. Not Chloe. Not Victoria.”
“But?”
“I saw how he spoke to you.”
I stared.
“You never said anything.”
“You told me not to.”
“So?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I thought respecting your marriage meant staying out.”
That hurt.
“Maybe I was wrong.”
I thought about it.
Years earlier, I would have wanted someone to drag me out.
But would I have listened?
Probably not.
“You couldn't make me leave.”
“No.”
“You could have told me more clearly.”
“Yes.”
We sat with that.
Then Dad said:
“I also hated him.”
“I noticed.”
“I was afraid if I pushed, you'd defend him harder.”
He was right.
“I did.”
“Yes.”
“So you waited.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Every day.”
I took his hand.
“Don't.”
“Elena—”
“Regret what you did wrong. Not what you couldn't control.”
He looked at me.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Expensive therapy.”
He laughed.
Dad recovered.
Slower afterward.
Chloe became obsessed with his diet.
“No salt.”
“I fought in courtrooms for forty years to eat flavorless soup?”
“Yes.”
“This family is tyranny.”
She kissed his forehead.
He ate the soup.
At sixteen, Chloe returned to Oakridge for an alumni event.
Her choice.
She performed drums in the Open Door Studio.
Standing ovation.
I sat front row.
Not hidden.
Not in a custodial uniform.
Front row.
Afterward, she found me.
“You came.”
“Every time.”
She smiled.
May you like
That became our phrase.
Every time.
