Page 116 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“I didn’t get a normal childhood,” I say. “And I’ve spent most of my adult life convincing myself that love is temporary. Transactional. That people only stay if you make it easy. Or if you happen to live inside of a Nicholas Sparks novel.”
My mom’s eyes are glistening. My dad’s jaw is tight. The tension between us is as thick as ever.
“I’m not blaming you,” I add quickly. “Okay, well—I am, a little. But mostly I just… I need something from you.”
They wait.
I take a breath, try to steady myself.
“I need you to tell me what happened. I need you to be honest with me. Because for once, I think I want my own happy ending, and all I hear is you two tearing each other down in the background.”
Silence. Thick. Uncomfortable.
And then—
“We were stupid,” my dad says.
My mom blinks. “Excuse me?”
Here we go…
He turns toward her, voice low but clear. “We were stubborn. We were young. We thought love would fix things, but we didn’t know how to talk. How to fight for each other.”
“We fought plenty,” she mutters.
“Not for therightthings.”
I watch them—two people who once built a life together, now looking at each other like strangers who might’ve once shared a dream.
“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you,” he says. “I left because I didn’t know how to stay.”
“And I didn’t stop you,” my mom admits. “I was sotired of feeling like the only one trying.”
Tears slip down my cheeks before I even feel them coming.
They both look at me.
“I’m sorry,” my mom says. “I didn’t realize how much you were carrying.”
“I thought staying quiet would protect you,” my dad adds. “But it just made you feel like none of it mattered.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
I just sit there.
Right between them.
It’s quiet again.
Nothing is fixed, and it might not ever be, but something tells me it’s a start.
We eat, share a bottle of wine, and we talk some more. And somehow, by the end of dinner, I feel the tiniest bit better. My parents are just people—flawed humans who made mistakes.
The three of us step out onto the sidewalk. My mom hugs me first—tighter than she has in a long time.
“I’m sorry it took this long,” she murmurs.
“Me too,” I say, and I mean it.
