Page 11 of Hidden & Held

She starts panicking again, and I spend the next fifteen minutes writing what notes I can from her spiral while gently bringing her back.

When I walk back into the kitchen, I hear the click of the front door closing. Jackson’s gone.

The paint tray is cleaned. The tape lines are … Okay. Not perfect, but slightly better than I expected. I walk over, running my finger along the edge. I’ll still have to redo it, but at least the bulk of the work is done.

I smell something over the low fumes of the paint and my gaze shifts to find it. There’s a plate on the counter of grilled chicken and more vegetables than I’ve ever used in one dish.

I take the plate into the living room, finding that my electric blanket is already laid out over my usual spot. One touch tells me he’s turned it on. A note rests on top.

Eat something. Don’t stay up all night. —J

I stare at his sloping handwriting longer than I should. He didn’t say goodbye or ask to stay over, but he rarely does. He always parks his car one street over and slips out when the evening is done, like he was never here in the first place.

I tell myself I like it that way. Less complicated. I pick up my fork, taking a bite of the still-warm meal, ignoring the quiet happiness that fills me at the act.

The next morning, I head into work with my mind on the meetings, briefings, and motions I need to manage. I walk into my office and instantly see the change—a soft bouquet of freesia blooms among silvery eucalyptus have been added to the vase. Understated, even as a calming scent fills the air. I head straight to my desk drawer, pull it open, and see a note. A note he always hides but never fails to leave.

These are supposed to mean “I’m thinking of you.” I am. —J

Jackson has had flowers delivered to the office for weeks now. With special instructions to replace and refill the vase. Each bouquet expertly chosen for a specific meaning. I trace the note with reverence before setting it in my desk drawer to store with the rest.

My phone pings with a reminder: my dad’s birthday. My body tenses at the thought of opening a dialogue with him. Until I was six, my dad was my everything; he showered me with the attention and adoration every little girl deserves.

Then he asked for a divorce. There was another woman; a first-grade teacher at his school who was the opposite of my mother in every way.

Mom hired the best attorneys money could buy. I read the file after law school—Dad filed for sole custody, got talked down to joint. But Mom countered for sole and won. Not because the court thought my father was unfit. Because winning was the only language left for her, and custody of me was the move that hurt him most.

Visitation became expensive and technical. It was difficult for my father to navigate the hoops she and the lawyers created. Every minor infraction triggered another legal letter. After two years of fighting, he stopped pushing back.

I was eight when his presence began to fade. As an adult, I can see my mom was acting from pain and Dad was acting from a financially impossible situation, but that didn’t make the long days and nights of her career-focused life easier, or the absence of my once-present father burn less.

I push through, typing a “Happy Birthday” text. It’s the right thing to do, even if it’s painful. I receive a reply back faster than should be possible.

Dad

Thank you, sweet pea! It’s so good to hear from you. I’ve been keeping up on your cases on the Oregon Judicial Case Information Network. Great win on the Cane one, that was messy!

He isn’t saying anything wrong, but hearing his praise always comes with a twinge of hurt. I set the phone face-down and pick up a brief instead of responding.

Another text comes in, the phone buzzing against the desk. I brace, thinking it’s another message from him, dragging me back in with his excessive excitement.

Jackson

Hey, I know it’s your dad’s birthday today. I know when he reaches out its hard for you. He missed out on watching you grow, and that is his problem, not yours. Besides, I saw the picture of you with that headgear at thirteen? Let me just say you have made a full transformation.

I laugh at his unfortunately true statement about me in my youth, moving on with my day and putting my dad and his complications aside.

By lunch, I see another text message: my weekly horoscope that Nessa has us all signed up for. I never admit to her that I read it religiously.

Virgo — Weekly Check-In

You’re in a stretch where your strength is obvious to everyone … but your intentions might not be. Be mindful of how much you’re carrying quietly—not everything needs to be held alone, even if you’re capable of it.

Something may surface this week that feels like a disruption or a misstep. It isn’t. It’s a correction. Not all course changes feel good in the moment, but they are often necessary to bring things back into alignment.

Stay steady. Stay grounded in what you know is true about yourself even if others don’t see it right away.

You’re stronger than the moment—just don’t mistake control for clarity.