84 "daddies sorry"

I didn't pack.

But I thought about it.

All morning the idea sat in the back of my head like a door I could walk through if I needed to. I watched Patsy play on the rug in the living room with her little plastic horses, her soft voice making quiet stories for them.Walker sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee going cold in his hands.Neither of us had said the word leave again.But it hung there.Heavy. Possible.Patsy trotted a tiny horse across the floor. "Mama, this one's you," she said.I looked down at it.

"Why me?"

"'Cause she's the fastest."

A weak smile tugged at my mouth.Walker watched me over the rim of his cup. His eyes had that look again—the one that said he was ready to take me anywhere if I asked.Even though he couldn't.. not with his brand.. not without dying. But he wasn't pushing.

Outside, trucks were already pulling in.Today was the dedication.The state had been planning it for months. Press. Cameras. Politicians. A big polished plaque celebrating my father's newest conservation project.The irony of it made my stomach twist.My father saving land for the future while his own family burned down behind him.I heard boots on the porch. Heavy ones.My spine stiffened. Walker noticed instantly."I'll handle him," he muttered, setting the cup down. "No," I said quietly. The screen door creaked open. John stepped inside.He looked like he hadn't slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes dark and tired in a way I'd never seen before.

Patsy looked up first.

"Papa!" She ran to him without hesitation.He caught her automatically, lifting her up and pressing a kiss into her hair. For a second the man I knew as a child was there—the warm one, the one who used to lift my sister onto horses and call her  his brave girl...but never did he do that to me.

Then Patsy wriggled free and ran back to her toys.

Silence settled in the room.Walker leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. I stood near the window. John looked at me.

"Can we talk?"

I didn't answer right away. Then I nodded once. Walker didn't move from his spot. He wasn't leaving the room, and John didn't ask him to. My father rubbed his hands together like he didn't know what to do with them.

"I meant what I said last night," he began.

I stared at him.

"That doesn't fix anything," I said quietly.

"I know."

He took a slow breath.

"I didn't know about the field."

My jaw tightened.

"You didn't ask."

"No," he admitted. "I didn't." His eyes flickered toward the floor.

"Beth told me you'd gotten mixed up with boys. Said you were embarrassed. Said you were...sleeping with a lot of them"

"And you believed her."

"I wanted to." The honesty of it hit harder than an excuse. "You watched her beat my face in"

"I had just lost your mother," he continued, voice rough. "Everything felt like it was falling apart. Beth was angry all the time. You were quiet. I thought if I ignored it long enough, things would settle."

"They didn't."

"No."

Patsy's little horses clacked softly against the floor behind us. My father looked at me again."I should have protected you," he said.I felt something twist in my chest."You were supposed to," I whispered.Walker shifted beside the counter, jaw tight but silent. John looked older suddenly."You were right about your mother," he said quietly. My breath caught."The horse threw her," he continued. "The doctors told me that. But Beth kept saying you spooked the horse. You were the only other one there."

"I was two."

"I know that."

"You should have known it then."His shoulders sagged. "Yes."The word barely left his mouth. Silence stretched again. Outside, I could hear more vehicles arriving down the drive.

Press.

Cameras. The world that thought my father was a hero. John followed my gaze toward the window. "They'll be here in about twenty minutes," he said. "For the dedication."

"Yes." I folded my arms. "You still planning to smile for them?" He didn't answer right away. Then he looked back at me."I'm planning to tell the truth." That made Walker lift his head. "What truth?" I asked.John swallowed. "That my daughter didn't attack that man because of who he was."The air shifted. "That she defended herself."

My heart thudded once. Hard.

"And the rest?" I asked quietly.His eyes softened in a way I had never seen."The rest is between us."I studied his face. For the first time in years, he didn't look like the mean man I knew. He looked like a tired father.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," I said.

"I'm not asking you to."Patsy trotted over with two horses in her hands.

"Papa, which one's faster?" John crouched down beside her. "This one," he said, pointing to the black one. "Why?"

"Because she looks stubborn, almost like bird in the barn.," he said with a faint smile.

Patsy giggled "that's mama!" and ran off again. John stood slowly.

"I don't expect you to stay," he said to me. "But I hope you will need someone running this place while I'm gone. I know rip can handle it but you're important too."I didn't answer.

He nodded once and walked toward the door.Before stepping out, he paused."The dedication starts soon," he said quietly. "You're welcome to come. Or not."Then he stepped outside.The screen door closed softly behind him.Walker looked at me. "What are you thinking?"I watched the dust rise from the trucks pulling in. "I'm thinking," I said slowly, "that for the first time in my life... he might actually be afraid of losing me."Walker's hand found mine.

"And?" I squeezed his fingers.

"And I have never felt that in my life..."