If I had told Pa what I was doing, he would have blabbed to Tristan. That’s not a question. It’s a fact. He would have outed me. Not out of spite, but out of misplaced concern.
But then, Pa’s never known what’s best for me.
I’m the only one who’s ever known that. I’ve just never listened to my instincts.
But that’s gonna change—starting right now.
“Yes,” I reply. “My father’s here. But he’s being taken care of.”
I posted the letter yesterday. It’ll be received by Dove Crest two days from now. It contains detailed instructions about Pa’s future and the care he is to receive, along with arrangements I’ve made to continue paying for his room at their facility no matter where I go.
I’ve made it clear that the contents of my letter are not to be shared with anyone. And by that, of course, I mean Tristan.
I may not be with him physically, but I want to make sure Pa’s being taken care of.
It’s the only way I can justify leaving like this. The only way my conscience won’t prevent me from coming back at some point in the future.
Because once I’m gone, I can’t ever come back. Not while Tristan is still drawing breath.
And I already know he’s going to live forever. Men with black hearts and shriveled souls always do.
“I’m sure he’s happy for you,” the cabbie tells me, and I jolt as I realize that I’m still in the middle of a conversation. “It’s right that kids should leave at some point. If you do your job right, your kids grow up and fly away.”
I smile.
If only I had a father who believed that.
“Do you have kids?”
“Five boys,” he replies proudly. “Always wanted a daughter, but it never happened for my wife and me.”
“That’s a lot of testosterone,” I chuckle.
He laughs. “It was chaos. My youngest is twenty-two now.”
I want to ask more about his family, but I notice the airport coming into view. I lean forward and crane my neck a little so that I can get a better look.
As I do, my heart starts pounding immediately.
The conversation has distracted me from my nerves. But now they’re back in full force.
The cabbie pulls up outside the departure terminal and I take a deep, steadying breath.
“Good luck, young miss,” he tells me. “Hope you find your home in the States.”
“Me, too,” I say. “Thanks for the ride.”
I pay him with a generous tip and step out of the cab. My lungs fill with trepidation, but there’s excitement just beneath that.
I can do this.
Deep down, I’m still that fearless eighteen-year-old girl who fought back every chance she got.
I’m still brave. I’m still a warrior.
I have to be.