Page 32 of Off Limits Daddies
"Do they?" Dad finally looks at me, his blue eyes sharp despite his illness. "People making vows and breaking them? Walking away from commitments?"
The accusation hangs in the air. We're not talking about Jack's divorce anymore. We're talking about me and how I left without a word.
"Robert," Mom says softly. "She came to visit. Let's not do this."
Dad's jaw tightens, but he returns to his newspaper. "How are your classes going? What are you teaching?"
I latch onto the safer topic. "Sophomore and junior English. We just startedThe Great Gatsbywith the juniors. They're surprisingly engaged with the symbolism."
"You always loved that book." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Used to read it every summer."
"I still do." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
We talk about literature for a few minutes, the conversation stilted but civil. Mom hovers anxiously, refilling coffee cups and offering cookies neither of us touches. I notice how she watches Dad, monitoring his energy levels, ready to intervene if he tires.
"You should have come home sooner." Dad's voice cuts through my explanation of teachingRomeo and Juliet. "Ten years is a long time to stay away."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"Do you?" He sets down his newspaper, his gaze boring into me. "Do you know what it did to your mother? To me? Wondering if you were alive or dead? If we'd failed you somehow?"
"You didn't fail me." The words come out choked.
"Then why did you leave?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself, his hand pressing against his chest. "Why did you run away in the middle of the night like we were monsters?"
Mom stands quickly. "Robert, your blood pressure."
"I'm fine, Linda." But he leans back in his recliner, his breathing labored.
I stand, my legs shaky. "I should go. I don't want to upset you."
"Sit down." It's not a request. "I'm dying, Mia. I don't have time for dancing around the truth. You owe me an explanation."
"I can't." My voice breaks. "I can't give you what you want."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." Tears blur my vision. "I had my reasons, Dad. Good reasons. But I can't explain them without hurting you more."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods slowly. "All right. I don't like it, but all right."
The concession feels like a gift I don't deserve.
"I'm glad you're teaching," he says quietly. "You always wanted that. I'm glad you got your degree, made something of yourself."
It's the closest thing to approval I've gotten from him since I returned. My chest aches with the weight of it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Mom stands abruptly. "Mia, help me in the kitchen?"
I follow her gratefully, leaving Dad with his newspaper. In the kitchen, Mom grips the counter, her knuckles white.
"He suspects something," she says quietly. "About you and Jack."
"There's nothing to suspect." The lie tastes bitter.
"Mia." She turns to face me, her brown eyes sad and knowing. "I'm your mother. I see things. The way you tensed when he mentioned Jack's name. The guilt in your eyes."
