Page 128 of If Love Had A Manual

The words knock the air from my lungs. He’s never said anything like this. Not even close.

“I was a mess after your mother,” he continues. “And I didn’t know how to love you without her. But that’s on me. I see that now.”

Silence stretches between us.

“Would you…” He clears his throat, eyes glancing away. “Would you ever be open to going with me? To therapy? Just once. To talk it out. I know I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

I wipe a tear I didn’t realize had slipped free. My heart aches, but not in the same way it used to. This ache feels like a crack letting light in.

“Sure, Dad,” I whisper, my chest constricting with something that feels dangerously like forgiveness. “I would.”

It’s not everything, but it’s something. A beginning. And maybe that’s all we really need.

“I see how you are with Rosie and that guy. Wes, right?”

I nod and wrap my arms tighter around my knees.

“I can tell you figured out how to love, even after everything, and…I’m proud of you.”

Tears spill over, but I don’t care. All I can manage in return is a trembling smile.

It’s not a sweeping father-daughter reunion, but it’s something—the kind of progress Grandpa always wanted for us.

My father clears his throat, blinking rapidly. Then he dips his head, turning away with a silent goodbye.

I watch him walk off, shoulders bowed with grief, and a painful warmth spreads in my chest. Maybe this is the first step to something like a relationship, maybe not, but at least we had this moment.

Better than never.

A fractured exhale leaks from my lungs as I rub away the tears on my cheeks. I realize the wind’s picked up and the clouds have darkened overhead. The sky’s about to break open, or so it feels. A big part of me wants to stay here until the rain washes everything away, but there’s another part that knows I can’t stay forever.

This time, when I hear more footsteps around me, I don’t need to turn around. I can sense him, the comforting weight of his presence.

My heart does that familiar flutter.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just lingers, letting me have this last moment with Grandpa.

Finally, he leans over me and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Hey,” Wes says quietly, “it’s going to rain soon. We should probably get out of here.”

I glance at the sky.

Grandpa, I’ll come back.

I let out a slow breath and rest a trembling palm over the grass where he lies. “I love you. Take care of Mom for me.”

Wes extends his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.

Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he pulls me into him and presses a kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you home.”

Forty-Eight

Wes

Amonth has crawled by since Frank’s funeral.

A month, and Lena still isn’t herself.

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