Page 55 of Small Town Daddy

"How long’s she been living like this?" I wondered aloud, though no one was around to answer.

By the time I finished, the room looked . . . better. Not great. But livable.

Standing in the center of it, I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the closed bedroom door. A part of me wanted to knock, check on her again. But another part—the part that knew her stubborn streak—told me to leave her be for now.

That’s when it hit me. I couldn’t fix this. Not really. I could help, but this wasn’t my life, wasn’t my issue to solve. I needed to make a phone call.

I stepped out onto the fire escape, the rusty metal groaning under my weight. The city air hit me—cool but stale, tinged with exhaust and faint traces of burnt grease from a diner down the block. My fingers tightened around my phone as I scrolled for their number. It had been years. Too many.

"Shit," I muttered to myself, staring atThompsonon the screen. For a second, I considered backing out. But then I glanced over my shoulder through the cracked window. The mess inside. Her face earlier, pale and drawn like she hadn’t slept in days.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “Hello?” It was him, Emily’s father. Older, but still kind-sounding.

"Mr. Thompson," I started, my voice rougher than I intended. "It’s Marcus."

"Marcus?" A pause. Then quieter, more cautious, "What’s going on?"

"Look, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important," I said, gripping the cold railing. My knuckles turned white. "It’s about Emily."

"Emily?" His voice sharpened, all that jovial warmth replaced with worry. "Is she okay?"

"She’s . . . struggling," I admitted. No point sugarcoating it. "I’m at her place right now. She called me last night, sounded bad. When I got here..." I trailed off, the image of empty bottles and scattered pills flashing in my mind. "She needs help. Real help. More than I can give her.”

"Jesus," he muttered, and I heard Mrs. Thompson’s voice in the background, asking what was wrong. He must’ve covered the phone because his voice muffled, but I could hear the panic rising between them.

"Can you come?" I pressed. "As soon as possible. She shouldn’t be alone. And, honestly, I don’t think she’ll listen to me long-term."

"Of course," he said, his voice steady but strained. "We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Thank you, Marcus. For being there."

"Yeah," I muttered, ending the call before the guilt creeping up my throat could choke me.

Stepping back into the apartment felt like sinking into quicksand. The stale air wrapped around me again as I shut the window behind me.

"Emily?" I called softly.

She was on the couch now, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself. Her eyes locked on something invisible across the room, far away. Too far.

"Hey," I tried again, moving closer. Her head turned slowly, her gaze dull until it landed on me. "Your parents are coming," I said, keeping my tone gentle. "They’ll be here tomorrow."

For a second, nothing. Then her whole body tensed, fists clenching against her legs. "You called them?"

"Yeah," I said, careful not to let my voice waver.

"Why would you do that?" Her voice cracked, rising with each word. "Marcus, I trusted you! I didn’t ask for them—I asked foryou! Why couldn’t you just stay here and help me? You know how they are!”

"Emily," I said, holding up a hand, palms out. "This isn’t about trust. This is about what you need right now. They can give you more support than I can. It’s not—"

"Don’t," she snapped, sitting up straighter. Her eyes burned now, sharp against her pale face. "Don’t pretend this is some noble act. You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

"That’s not fair, and you know it," I shot back, taking a step closer.

"Then stay," she said, her voice dropping. Pleading. "Just tonight. Please, Marcus. I can't be alone."

My jaw tightened. There was no good answer to this. None that didn’t feel like stepping into a minefield.

"Emily . . ." I hesitated, my hands curling into fists at my sides. Her fragility was written all over her—a trembling lip, the way her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for another blow. But I couldn’t ignore the undertone beneath her words, the weight pressing harder with every second I stood there.

"Please," she whispered again, her voice barely audible now.

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