Page 74 of Broken By Silence
Dad flinches.
“She made me believe I was worthless,” I continue, chest tight. “And you—” My throat closes, but I force it out. “You were so lost in your guilt that the drugs and alcohol were more important than me.”
He stops walking. Sand crunches under his shoes. “Scar—” Hecorrects himself. “Lottie… I know. And I’ll regret it until the day I die.”
I laugh, harsh and bitter. “Regret doesn’t undo it.”
“No.” His voice is steady, but low. “It doesn’t. But I need you to hear me say it. I was drowning in it, too. Doesn’t excuse it. Doesn’t make it less, but the day you walked through that door. You were a ghost. You were no longer the daughter I knew… They ruined you, and it was all my fault.”
My chest heaves. I want to scream, to hit him, to demand why the hell he didn’t try harder. But then I look at him—really look.
He’s sober. His eyes are clear. He’s standing here, steady for the first time in my life.
“Elijah shoved me into rehab,” he admits, staring out at the sea. “I hated him for it. Thought he was self-righteous. But he was right. If I hadn’t gone, I’d be dead now.” The wind whips my hair across my face. I stare at him, at the lines etched deeper around his eyes. “I’m not going back,” he says firmly. “Not ever. I’ve been clean since the day they locked that door, and I’ll fight like hell to stay clean. I can’t fix the past, Scar—Lottie. But I want to be someone who deserves to stand here with you now.”
The sincerity in his voice shakes something loose in me, something I’ve kept locked away.
I sink into the sand, pulling my knees up to my chest. He lowers himself beside me, grunting as his knees pop. For a while, we just sit there, gulls shrieking overhead, the tide creeping in and out.
“I don’t forgive you,” I whisper.
He nods, eyes on the horizon. “I don’t deserve it.”
“But…” My throat is tight, but the words push through. “I’ll try. If you keep trying, I’ll try.”
His hands tremble before he dares to rest one on mine. It’s tentative, careful, like he expects me to pull away.
I don’t.
The waves crash. The sun glares. For the first time in years, sitting here beside the man who failed me and is still somehow mydad, I let myself believe in the possibility of something I never thought I’d get.
I dress quickly.
Black leggings clinging to my legs, a fitted tank leaving me bare at the shoulders, and one of Archer’s old sweatshirts that still smells faintly of him. Not detergent. Not cologne. Just him.
My feet carry me down the hall. Quiet enough that the others won’t hear me.
Claire is waiting at the basement door before I even reach it, leaning against the frame like she’s been there all along.
“You ready?” she asks.
The words snag in my throat.
Ready? To be dragged back into everything I’d rather bury?
Ready to fall apart, or maybe put myself back together?
I don’t answer. Not out loud.
I just hold her gaze, steady, and nod once.
That’s enough for her. She opens the door without another word and starts down the stairs, her braid swinging like a whip. I follow, barefoot and silent, the cool tile giving way to rough concrete.
The lights are already on, golden and sharp, cutting shadows across the mat at the center. The weapons on the wall glint faintly, steel whispering a promise I try not to look at too long.
Claire waits near the mat, already dressed to fight. “Show me what you remember.”
Her words are less request, more order, like she’s daring me to disappoint her. My stomach twists tight, but I step onto the mat anyway. My feet plant, my fists rise. My heart pounds like a war drum—steady, steady. Like it knows what to do even if my head doesn’t.
