For the next several weeks, I put everything I have into my short story—my time, my energy, and so much emotion that I've burst into tears in front of the computer more times than I care to confess.

Gram told me to write what I know, and I've done just that.

Angel, my main character, embarks on a journey of self-discovery as she meets her birth father for the very first time. Along the way, she makes poor life choices, finds herself in dangerous situations, and even falls in love with a childhood friend.

The story has more or less written itself and is almost finished. I just need to figure out the ending.

"Angel and her boyfriend should run away and start a new life together, complete with a cozy cottage and a golden retriever," Kira suggests, flipping through a UIC catalog. She received her acceptance letter yesterday.

"I mean, I like that ending," I reply, thinking back to my converation with Rem, "but what about Angel's father? What happens with him?"

"He takes a gasoline bath and then sets himself on fire," she says with a shrug.

"Kira...."

"What? Too dark?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"I don't care for the guy," she reminds me. "He's a creep. The sooner he goes back to whatever swamp he crawled out of, the better."

"This is for a story, remember? Angel's dad and my dad aren't the same person," I tell her.

She furrows her brow. "Aren't they, though? I mean, you, Evangeline, obviously based this character off yourself."

I roll my eyes. "Never mind. I'll ask Rem for help."

Later that day, I meet up with Rem at Poppy's. We order dinner, and after our meals, he splurges and buys us both ice cream sundaes.

"I'll never say no to ice cream, but what's the occasion?" I ask. While I have an insatiable sweet tooth, he isn't a dessert guy.

"I don't know. I figured we could celebrate," he answers.

"And what are we celebrating?"

"Well, I got into Juilliard."

"Oh, my god!" I shriek, causing everyone in the diner to turn their heads and stare. Too excited to care, I throw my arms around his neck and nearly suffocate him with my anaconda squeeze. "Baby, that's amazing! I'm so happy for you. I knew you'd get in."

He beams proudly. "Thanks, pretty girl."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have taken you out on a real date," I say, suddenly embarrassed that I wolfed down my burger and then spent twenty straight minutes talking about my stupid short story.

"I didn't want to make a big deal of it," he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, we're making a big deal of it. This is huge!" I kiss his lips, overjoyed for my talented musician. If anyone deserves this opportunity, it's him.

"What about you?" he inquires. "Heard back from any schools yet?"

"Yes, actually." My lips dip into a disappointed frown. "I got into UIC, Wheaton, and Northeastern."

"Why do you look so sad? Those are all great schools," he praises me.

"Um, NYU rejected me," I admit, blushing with shame. "I don't have enough extracurriculars, apparently."

He gives my thigh a reassuring squeeze. "That's okay, baby. You'll get into Columbia for sure."

"If I can finish this story before the deadline," I say with a chuckle.

"I'll help you," he promises. "Nothing will get in the way of our New York City sunsets."

Snuggled next to each other, we eat our ice cream and then drive back to my house. Even though I'm no longer grounded, Gram still wants me to respect my curfew on school nights. Since she's been more lax about everything else, I didn't argue.

When we arrive, I'm shocked to see a silver Mercedes-Benz at the end of the driveway. Rem and I exchange a look before he cuts the engine and accompanies me outside.

"Why the hell is Benson's car here?" Rem asks, his voice laced with concern.

"No clue," I answer truthfully, looping my fingers through his as we make our way into the house.

"I'm not leaving without seeing her!"

"Benson, you need to go. I don't care where. Just get the fuck out of my house!"

The sound of two angry voices leaves me frozen in the doorway. One is my father. The other, to my surprise, is Grandpa. It isn't like him to yell. Gram's the aggressive one in the relationship, not him.

"Maybe we should wait outside," Rem murmurs against my neck, his hands on my waist as he tries to pull me backward.

"Babe, I have to go in." I break free of his grasp and find the dueling men in the kitchen. "What's going on?" I demand.

They both turn to me, their eyes wide. Grandpa runs his fingers through his grayish-blonde hair, his scowl morphing into an expression of guilt. Benson crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the older man.

"What are you doing here, Benson?" I ask.

"He came to say goodbye," Grandpa cuts in. "He's leaving town. For good."

I glance back and forth between them, waiting for some sort of explanation, but neither of them offer one.

He was so determined to win Alyx back. He wanted to get to know Clem, to have a chance at fatherhood. Why would he decide to leave all of a sudden?

And why does it feel like there's a bowling ball on my chest?

"I can't do the nomad thing anymore," Benson finally says. "I need to put down roots somewhere, and I'm obviously not welcome in Chicago."

"Don't make me the bad guy here," Grandpa huffs, leaning against the counter, his hand covering his heart.

"Mr. Beaufort, are you okay?" Rem pipes in.

Straightening up, my grandpa nods his head and replies, "Yeah, I'm alright."

"Can we go for a drive?" Benson asks me, oblivious to his father's distress.

I turn to Grandpa, silently asking his approval. If my dad is about to take off forever, I deserve a proper goodbye.

"Be back in an hour," he says, shooting eye daggers at Benson.

"Thank you, Grandpa." Leaning toward Rem, I mutter, "Can you please stay with him until my grandma gets home? He doesn't look well."

"Of course," my boyfriend vows. "Just... be careful, alright?"

I give him a quick kiss before following my father outside. We get in his car and take a spin around the neighborhood, neither of us saying a word.

I turn the music on. Once again, a god damn Nickelback song blares through the speakers. That's probably the only CD he owns.

"So," he finally breaks the silence, "I know our relationship has never been great, but I wanted you to know how proud I am of you."

I blink. "You are?"

"So proud," he says. "You're this strong, beautiful, badass young woman. My parents did a good job with you. Way better than I would have done."

Biting back tears, I whisper, "I wish things were different. I wish I didn't have to feel guilty for wanting to get to know you better, or for being sad that you're leaving. I wish I could be a normal girl with a normal dad."

He reaches across the center console and rests his hand over mine. "You are a normal girl. Don't blame yourself for my mistakes, alright?"

"You make it hard for me to hate you sometimes," I mumble.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Hate me if you need to. I won't take it personally."

Most people want to be liked, or at least not loathed. He doesn't seem to care either way.

"So, um, you never answered my question," I say, hesitant to even bring the topic up again. "You never told me if you felt guilty for what happened to my mom."

"For what I did to your mom, you mean?" He glances at me. Even in the dark, I can see his brown eyes flickering with remorse. "Yes, Evangeline, I do feel bad. I feel awful, and I wish I could take it back, or at least apologize, but...." He trails off, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "When she died, I was relieved, as fucked up as that sounds. I figured my secret died with her. I almost forgot about Bowie, about what he knew.

"I should have come clean a long time ago. I knew what I did was wrong, and I did it, anyway. I brought a drunk girl into my room and forced myself on her while she begged me to stop. I wasn't raised to think that was okay. My parents taught me better than that."

"Then why did you?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. I don't want to hear this, but I need to—for closure, mostly, and to finally figure out how my god damn story ends. "You said you knew it was wrong but did it, anyway. Why?"

"I was fixated on Raelyn," he says plainly. "My feelings had surpassed love and gone straight to obsession. I had wanted her since we were kids, and with every day that she ignored me, it made me want her more. I couldn't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard I tried."

"Your feelings don't justify your actions," I reply. "I get that you felt rejected or whatever, but you should have let her be. You shouldn't have hurt her the way you did."

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't be here right now."

"And would that be the worst thing?"

The car comes to a less than graceful halt. "What are you getting at, Vange?" Benson snaps.

"It's probably hard to forget being raped when you have to carry and raise your rapist's baby. It's gotta suck looking after your grandchild when all of your kids are already out of the house. I was a burden to my mom, and now I'm a burden to Gram and Grandpa. I'm starting to think I wasn't supposed to exist at all."

The sincerity behind my words hits me like a punch to the stomach. I quickly look out the window, hoping he doesn't notice the teardrops cascading down my face like a waterfall.

"Evangeline," he says, "you can't... you can't think that way. My parents love you. They would die for you. And your mom... well, she wouldn't have kept you if she didn't want you. Lots of girls get pregnant at sixteen; not many take on young motherhood as gracefully as she did."

A slight smile tugs at my lips. I never thought he'd be the one to talk me down from a ledge, but here we are.

"And just because I'm leaving town," he goes on, "it doesn't mean we can't keep in touch. You have my phone number, remember? You can call whenever you want. Or don't. It's up to you."

"Okay," I murmur, wiping my watery eyes. "Do you know where you're gonna go?"

"Not sure. I lived in the Big Apple for a while. Perhaps I'll go back."

"I'm applying to Columbia," I tell him. "If I get in, maybe the two of us could grab lunch sometime?"

"When you get in, we definitely will." He gives my hand a squeeze before accelerating the car.

We drive around for another thirty minutes, chatting about college and careers. In the months that we've known each other, this is the first easygoing conversation we've had. There's no awkwardness, no nagging tension, no hostility. For the first time, it feels natural. Normal, even.

When he drops me off, I give him a hug, fighting the urge to cry once again. We exchange heartfelt goodbyes, promising to keep in touch. Despite everything—the drama, the secrets, the lies—I want to maintain some semblance of a relationship. He's deeply flawed, but he's still my dad.

And tonight, he showed me that he's capable of redemption.

Is he, though? 🥴

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