I sit on the sofa in the dimly lit apartment I share with Steph. The weight of the phone in my hand felt heavier than ever before. The call had come out of nowhere, catching me off gaurd in the worst possible way.

"𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴."

The words echo in my head as I stare at the screen, reading the call log again as if the reality of it hadn't quite sunk in. I hadn't spoken to my dad in years. Not since I came out. Not since he made it clear I wasn't welcome in his life. And now he was gone, and I'm expected to deal with the aftermath.

My mind races with a flood of emotions I don't want to deal with: grief, anger, and a bitterness I didn't even know I was capable of. My father was gone, and with him went any chance of reconciliation. But what reconciliation? He didn't wanted me in his life. And now, I had to face the ghost of a man who had left me long before his death.

My hand trembled as I typed a message on my phone.

𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠?

I stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, waiting for Caitlin's response. I don't know why Caitlin is the person I reached out to. We hadn't been right in months. We hadn't been anything since that night. And yet, Caitlin is the only one who knows the truth about my family.

When the notification pops up, her heart skips a beat.

𝙊𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚. 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪?

I feel a lump in my throat. I don't want to explain everything over text. I don't want to feel the weight of this alone anymore. Without replying. I stand up, grabbing my keys, and leave the apartment.

I meet Caitlin at a small park near the training grounds. Caitlin was already waiting for me, leaning against the back of her car, hands in her pockets, looking more nervous than I'd ever seen her.

For a moment, I hesitate. I have no idea how to begin, and the words felt stuck in my throat, but Caitlin met my eyes, and the concern there— the genuine concern— was enough to break through my defenses.

"I got a call today," I say, my voice shaky. "My father died."

Caitlin's eyes widen in surprise. She straightens up, stepping closer to me. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

I nod, though the apology feels hollow. "I haven't spoken to him in years. Not since... you know." I swallow hard. "They want me to go clear out his house. I don't know why they even bothered calling me."

Caitlin's face softens with understanding. She knows what I've been through. She knows the pain, the rehection, the way my  dad had severed ties with me after I came out to him. "That's a lot to deal with," Caitlin says quietly. "You don't have to do it alone, you know."

I bite my lip, feeling the weight of my pride, the urge to keep pushing everyone away. But the truth is, I didn't want to do this alone. I couldn't.

"I don't know why I'm asking you this, but..." I hesitate. "Will you come with me? To his house?"

Caitlin doesn't hesitate. "Of course. I'll be there."

The hum of the car engine fills the silence between us. The sun is high in the sky, casting long shadows on the road as we drive further away from the city. The closer we get to my father's house, the heavier the weight in the air seems to grow.

I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, trying to focus on anything but the knot twisting tighter in my stomach. The tension between us, between me and Caitlin, is as thick as ever, but this time it was different. It isn't just the leftover anger from out breakup; it's something more raw.

It is grief.

Caitlin glances at me every few moments, unsure of how to break the silence. She can feel the heaviness radiating from me.

Finally, Caitlin breaks the silence.

"You've been quiet," she says softly, keeping her eyes on the road.

My hand pauses, stilling on my shirt. I don't respond right away, not because I don't want to, but because I don't know what to say. My mind is a mess of conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, sadness. "I don't really know what to say," I admit, my voice low.

Caitlin nods, understanding. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

I sigh, leaning my head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. "It's just... weird," I murmer. "I haven't thought about him in years. And now, suddenly, I'm expected to care."

"Of course it's weird," Caitlin says, gently. "You went through a lot with him. You don't have to feel any specific way about this."

I turn my head slightly, watching Caitlin's profile. Her jaw clenched, her hands steady on the wheel. She looked so calm, so sure. And yet, I could sense the nervousness beneath the surface. Caitlin wasn't sure how to navigate this either, and for some reason, that made me feel a little better.

"I don't know how to feel," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I'd be relieved. But it's just... complicated."

Caitlin nods, again, her expression softening. "It's okay for it to be complicated. He was still your father, even if he hurt you. It's not always black and white."

I swallow hard, my throat tight. The memories of my dad flood back—good ones from when I was younger, and then the pain of losing him when I came out. Growing up it was only evwr me and him. "I hated him for so long," I say, my voice trembling. "But now he's gone, and I don't know what to do with all that hate."

Caitlin doesn't respond immediately, giving me the space to speak. After a moment, she glances over at me. "You don't have to figure it all out right now," she says, softly. "You're allowed to feel angry. You're allowed to feel sad. You don't have to forgive him if you don't want to. You just... need to let yourself feel whatever comes."

I look down at my hands, feeling the tears sting the corners of my eyes. I hadn't cried yet—not since the call. But Caitlin's words cracked something inside me. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can face my father's memory, let alone the house that had once been my home.

"I don't even know why I asked you to come with me," I say, my voice wavering. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

Caitlin shakes her head firmly. "I'm glad you did," she says, quietly. "I wouldn't want you to go through this alone."

I let out a shaky breath, biting my lip as I try to hold back the flood of emotions. "It's just... you're the only one who knows. About my family. About everything."

Caitlin's heart clenchs. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm here for you, Elena. No matter what."

I turn my head, meeting Caitlin's eyes for the first time since we'd gotten in the car. I can see the sincerity there, the care Caitlin still has for me, despite everything that had happened between us.

For a moment, I want to reach out, to let myself lean on Caitlin the way I used to. But then the pain of our past pushed forward, and I pulled back, closing myself off again.

"Thanks," I murmer, looking away.

The silence returns, but it isn't as suffocating as before. Caitlin keeps her focus on the road, giving me the space I need, but ready to step in whenever I'm ready to let her. We still have a long way to go—not just to my dad's house, but between the two of us. There were wounds that hadn't fully healed, words that hadn't been said. But for now, in this moment, we're together. And that's enough.

As we drive the last stretch toward the house, the sun dips lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden light. I should feel peaceful, but all I can feel is the storm brewing inside me.

I don't know what would happen when we got to the house. I didn't know if I was ready to face it. But with Caitlin beside me, at least I wasn't doing it alone.

When we finally pull up in front of the small, neglected house, my stomach twists. The lawn is overgrown, the windows covered in dust, and it looks as though it had been abandoned long before my dad's death.

I stand frozen in place as we step out of the car, staring at the house that holds so many complicated memories. I can feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the frustration of not knowing how to feel, of being abandoned by a man who was supposed to love me unconditionally.

Caitlin stands beside me, silent, her hand brushing against my arm but not pushing for more.

Finally, I take a deep breath and step forward. "Let's get this over with."

Inside, the house is just as neglected as the outside. Dust coats every surface, the air stale and cold. I wander into the living room, my eyes scanning over the remnants of a life I hadn't been part of for years. Photographs of my father, but none of me. Awards and mementos of a life I don't recognize. It's as if I'd been erased.

Caitlin follows me silently, watching my every move. She knows better than to say anything. She can sense I'm on the verge of breaking down, and she's waiting for the moment to be there when it happens.

As we begin to pack up my father's belongings, the silence grows heavier. Every object we touch seems to carry the weight of what had been lost between us—both me and my father, and me and Caitlin.

It isn't until we come across an old, tattered photo album that I finally stopped. I sit down on the floor of my old room that had been washed away of everything I ever owned, my heart clenching at the sight of my younger self. There I was, a small child with wide eyes like my mother, smiling up at my father, back when things were still okay.

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

Caitlin kneels beside me, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. "It's okay to cry, you know."

I shake my head, my voice breaking. "I don't know if I'm crying for him or for me. He was never there for me after I came out. He just... left." I wipe at my face angrily. "Maybe I wasn't worth loving. Maybe I wasn't enough."

Caitlin's heart aches at my words. "You are worth loving, Elena," she says softly. "Your father's rejection wasn't about you. It was about him. He couldn't see you for who you are, and that's his loss. Not yours."

I look at her, my eyes filled with pain. "Then why does it feel like it's my fault? Why do I feel like I keep pushing everyone away?"

Caitlin hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Because you've been hurt, and it's hard to trust when you've been hurt like that. But you're not alone in this. You never were. You have people who care about you. Who want to be there for you, even if you don't always let them in."

For a moment, neither of us speak. My tears flow freely now, and Caitlin does the only thing she can think of—she pulls me into her arms.

I stiffen at first, but then, slowly, I let myself melt into Caitlin's embrace. I sob quietly, my grief and anger pouring out in a way I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years.

Caitlin holds me tightly, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. This was the Elena she had always known—the one who felt so deeply but tried so hard to hide it.

By the time we had finished packing up the house, the sun had started to set. The silence between us now was different—softer, more understanding. As twe stand outside, watching the house one last time, I felt a strange sense of closure. Not with my father, but with myself.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that," I say quietly.

Caitlin shakes her head. "Don't be. I'm just glad I could be here with you."

I glanceat her, feeling a tug of something deeper. Something I wasn't ready to admit yet. But for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone.

"Thanks, Caitlin. For everything."

Caitlin smiles gently. "Anytime." Just as she turns to go to the car, she stops herself and turns back to me. "Can I ask you one question?" I stare back at her for a while, scared of what the question could be but then nod. "What was that book you picked up back there." I hesitate, taking a deep breath in. "You don't have to tell me?" Caitlin says quickly, but I shake my head because for some reason I want to tell her.

"It was this diary I wrote while growing up here before I moved to America to play football professionally." I explain. "It was adressed to my mum." I add, quitely.

"She's watching you with a proud smile on her face." Caitlin says, reaching out and squeezing my hand lightly. I nod, wanting to believe that because I didn't know enough about my mum to tell someone about her, but I hoped that she wasn't like my dad. That she would love me for me. That she would've walked me down that isle no matter who I was marrying because my dad wouldn't.

"Thank you, Caitlin." I say, sincerely.

As we drive back to the apartment, my mind swirls with everything that had happened. But I know one thing for sure—whatever had been broken between us, this moment had started to heal it.