By Monday, Lena wasn't just distant. She was gone.
Not literally. She still walked the same halls, sat in the same classrooms, laughed at the same jokes. But it was as if she had drawn a line in the air, one I wasn't allowed to cross.
At lunch, she slid her tray down on the far side of the cafeteria, away from our usual table. I froze mid-step, watching her settle in with her friends as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My spot, the one across from her, where we used to trade fries and secrets, stayed empty.
I told myself to move, to sit, to pretend I didn't care. But my legs felt heavy, rooted in the middle of the room, a hundred stares burning into me. I ended up at a table in the corner, surrounded by noise that didn't touch me.
And then I saw him.
Max. Sliding into the seat beside her.
He didn't hover the way other guys did around Lena, didn't push for attention. He just leaned close enough to murmur something that made her lips twitch into the smallest smile. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw the way her shoulders loosened, just a little, like he was carrying some of her weight.
When she looked down, blinking fast, Max rested a hand over hers. Not lingering, not claiming. Just steady. Just there.
It should have been me.
I gripped my fork so tight the metal bent. My chest ached with something sharp, something sour. I hated him for touching her, but I hated myself more for leaving the space open, for stepping back when she needed someone to step in.
Max wasn't trying to replace me. That almost made it worse. He wasn't circling her like prey, wasn't angling for her heart. He was simply brave enough to stand beside her when she was breaking.
He was everything I wasn't. Brave enough to stand beside her when she needed someone.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The house was too quiet when I walked in. Not the good kind of quiet, like the hush after laughter, or the stillness of an autumn evening. This was heavy, suffocating, the kind of silence that hummed with something broken beneath it.
Grandma sat at the kitchen table, her knitting untouched in her lap. The TV was off, the radio too. She looked up at me, worry tucked into every wrinkle around her eyes.
"Your father's in his room again," she said softly.
Again. The word landed like a stone.
I nodded, dropped my bag, and listened. Sure enough, through the thin walls, I caught the muffled sound of a man talking, but not to anyone. Words slurred, low and jagged, like curses thrown at shadows.
I stood outside his door for a moment, hand hovering over the knob. I remembered him as he used to be. His back straight, his voice steady, always leaving with sunrise in a crisp shirt, always coming home tired but proud. He'd been a wall. A fortress. Untouchable.
Now, the smell of whiskey seeped through the cracks, sharp and sour.
When I finally pushed the door open, I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, bottle in one hand, his head in the other. His eyes were red, but not from anger. From defeat.
"I ruined everything," he muttered, not noticing me at first. "God, what a fool. A loser. Should've listened… should've known…"
The words tumbled out of him like they'd been waiting years to escape.
Something inside me clenched. For so long, I'd hated him for being absent, for choosing work over time with me and Josh, for never being the kind of father Lena's dad was. But seeing him like this… stripped of pride, breaking in front of no one but himself… I realized maybe he hadn't been absent at all. Maybe he'd just been carrying too much, holding it all so we wouldn't have to.
And now the weight had finally crushed him.
I wanted to talk to him. About what happened. Why mom left with Josh. But I couldn't muster up the courage. I just went back to my room.
On the coffee table, my battered notebook lay half-open, its pages littered with scraps of words and fragments about Lena. Her laughter scribbled into metaphors, her eyes compared to starlight, half-formed poems I never finished. I grabbed it, flipped through the pages, then slammed it shut with a sharp crack.
"What good are words when I can't save anyone?"
I shoved the notebook away as if it has anything to do with what I was going through. It slid off the table and landed facedown on the floor, pages bent.
Then I threw myself on the bed, but with so many things on my mind, sleep won't come.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
That night, the house was darker than usual. Grandma had gone to bed early, her door shut tight. The only light came from under my father's door, flickering like a dying candle.
I hesitated outside, heart pounding, then knocked. No answer.
When I pushed it open, I found him slouched against the dresser, bottle rolling from his hand to the floor. His face was buried in his palms, shoulders shaking.
"I ruined it all," he rasped. "Everything. I lost the money. I lost her. I lost my family." His fists slammed against his thighs. "What kind of man does that make me? A pathetic, useless fool."
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. My father—who had always seemed unshakable, even when he was distant—looked like a broken child.
"Dad…" My voice cracked.
He flinched, as if he hadn't realized I was there. "Ash," he said hoarsely, trying to straighten up, trying to be the man he used to be. But the mask shattered almost immediately. His eyes filled. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to your mother. I should've known better. A friend… he convinced me it was a smart investment. I thought I was securing a future for you and Josh. Instead, I destroyed it. She's leaving me. She's taking you both. And I don't blame her."
The words poured out of him in jagged fragments, like glass tearing out of his throat.
Something inside me twisted because I understood him, more than he knew. I, too, was living with the guilt of breaking something precious. I thought of Lena's tears, her trembling voice asking what she'd done wrong, and my silence. I wasn't saving her. I was destroying her. Just like him.
"You don't have to explain," I whispered. "I get it. You tried. You were just… trying to give us a better life."
His eyes searched mine, raw and bloodshot. "And I failed. You deserved a better father, Ash. Not this." He gestured to himself. Empty bottle, hunched shoulders, everything.
For the first time, I didn't see him as just my father. I saw him as a man. Flawed, tired, human. And strangely, I respected him more than ever.
"No," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I used to be angry at you. I thought you didn't care because you were never there the way Lena's dad was. But now I know… you cared so much, you carried the weight until it crushed you. You did your best, Dad. That's enough."
His breath shuddered. Then he broke, pulling me into his arms. I hadn't been hugged by him like that in years. Tight, desperate, trembling.
"You're all I've got now," he whispered into my shoulder.
I held him back just as tightly. "And I'm not leaving. If Mom wants to go, that's her choice. But we're family. We'll figure this out together."
Something shifted in me in that moment, like a door opening. For the first time, I felt bigger than myself, bigger than my heartbreak with Lena. This wasn't just about me anymore.
It was about carrying him the way he had carried us.
Then I heard it.
The crunch of tires on gravel. The beam of headlights cutting across the curtains.
My chest tightened.
She was back.
And I knew, deep down, she wasn't coming home to stay.