Daddy Dearest

Chapter Sixty-Five

WAVERLY

The night had a certain chill to it, colder than a woman's silence, colder than a man's absence. I sat up in our bed, the sheets clutched to my chest, and the dim lamp light punctuating the solemnity of the room. The house breathed, groaned beneath the weight of silence. The door creaked open, and in the darkness, Ben's figure emerged.

"I've been waiting, Ben," I said, my voice shaky, yet bold in the hollow silence. He merely grunted, the metallic odor of alcohol wafting into the room. He crawled into bed, turned his back to me, a final act of dismissal. I remained, staring into the darkness, its infinity swallowing my pleas.

Days blended into one another, our words replaced with vacant smiles and quiet dinners. My attempts to address the issue were met with a silent brick wall, and my words always fell into a void. Ben's blue eyes had lost their warmth; the spark they held was smothered under a cold glacial sheet.

Over the clinking of our cutlery, Lottie's voice resonated, "Violet's been spotted downtown, Ma." Ben scoffed. I agreed with him, though it pained me. In our own way, we were all pushed to desperate measures, our family no exception.

Bedtime stories had always been a soothing balm, a whisper of innocence in an otherwise tumultuous world. Madi's soft voice called out for Pinocchio, but I suggested The Little Mermaid instead. I was weaving tales of magical underwater kingdoms when I thought about how every fairy tale has its own dark secret, just like ours. Madi's soft breathing relaxed me, her innocence a stark contrast to our shared transgression.

Gretchen, ever the sounding board, lent me her ear as I poured out my heart. "He won't even talk, Gretchen," I confessed. Our conversations were like a mirror, each word reflecting back my guilt, my sorrow. She just listened, offering silent sympathy.

Melody's presence in the house was both comforting and unnerving. A living, breathing reminder of Harry and my guilt. The weekends when Ben was home, the tension between them was palpable. It was as if they were playing a quiet game of chess, each waiting for the other to make a move. I knew Melody needed a father figure, and Ben was an unopened book.

The attic was a treasure trove of memories, its cobwebs a testament to years of neglect. Lottie and Charlie rummaged around, their faces lighting up with every discovered relic. I found a box, a Pandora's box of my past, my transgressions. I held it close, felt the familiar roughness against my fingertips, and opened it.

Among the dust and old papers, the mementos from Harry took me back to a different time, a different Waverly. I held a faded picture of Harry and me. The innocent smiles seemed to mock me. I tucked the box back under the pile, a sigh escaped my lips as tears welled up. I'd loved Harry once, and I paid the price for it.

Behind me, I heard a gasp. I turned around to find Ben holding the picture, his eyes boring into mine. His gaze shifted to the memento box, then back to me. The room went silent, the only sound the echo of our secret finally breaking free.

His silence was deafening, a cold wind howling through the attic. I swallowed, the lump in my throat a painful reminder of the truth I had kept hidden for so long.

"Ben..." I started, my voice a mere whisper against the howling silence.

He didn't respond, his eyes frozen on the faded photograph. The soft hum of the attic fan filled the silence, an awkward symphony to our impending conversation.

His hand clenched around the photograph, crushing the old paper. His eyes were a storm, swirling with betrayal and pain, mirroring the chaos in my own heart. The picture fell from his hand, floating down to the floor between us like a forgotten memory.