HEARTBREAK HIGH; •Spencer White•

twenty eight - dont stay

"YOU'RE SURE, MAE?" Cash's voice broke through her thoughts as she sat in the passenger seat, fingers already on the handle of the door. She nodded once, quickly, like if she hesitated even a second longer she'd change her mind.

"I'll be fine, Doug," she said softly, forcing a small smile. "See you in an hour." She slipped out of the car before he could argue again, shutting the door behind her with a quiet thud that felt heavier than it should've. The walk through security was routine. Expected, she barely noticed it. It was the moment she stepped into the visiting area that her stomach tightened.

Because there he was. Sitting across the table.
Her father looked smaller than she remembered. Not physically, but something about him had been worn down, dulled. Like time had scraped away whatever he used to be and left something unfamiliar behind.

"Daisy," he said quickly, leaning forward like the word itself meant something. "I'm so glad you came." She didn't sit down straight away, didn't smile or soften.

"Can't say it's mutual," she replied flatly, finally lowering herself into the chair. She leaned back on her palms, studying him like he was a stranger she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Silence stretched between them before he cleared his throat.

"I understand that," he said carefully. "But I needed to see you. I needed to explain—"

"I contemplated walking straight back out," Daisy cut in, head tilting slightly. "But I thought I'd give you a chance to justify your actions. Go on." A flicker of discomfort crossed his face.

"After your mother—" he started.

Daisy flinched instantly, her expression tightening. "Don't." He stopped.

"I lost sight of things," he corrected quickly. "And I took it out on you. I know that now."

Daisy let out a sharp, humourless breath. "That's your justification?"

"Daisy, I don't want you to—"

"To treat you like what you are?" she interrupted, leaning forward now. "A horrible father?" His expression twitched. "Or what," she continued, voice sharpening, "an abusive piece of shit."
The words hung there, heavy and harsh. Behind the glass, behind the walls, he couldn't reach her. And for the first time, she didn't feel small sitting across from him.

He gave a short, uneasy laugh, like he didn't know how to respond to hearing it said out loud. "I've been thinking a lot since I've been here," he said instead, quieter.

"Since you came here?" Daisy repeated, scoffing. "Like it was voluntary. Sounds like a holiday, Dad." Another dry laugh left her, but there was no humour in it.

"You're so smart, Daisy," he said suddenly, almost fondly. "Always have been. I never understood half the things you say."

"Lucky me," she muttered.

"Your mother was like that too," he added, that landed differently. Her expression shifted for half a second, just enough. Then it closed off again.

"Get on with it," she said coldly. "Time's ticking."

He exhaled slowly, folding his hands on the table. "I know I don't deserve your time. But I need to say this properly." Daisy didn't respond she simply watched him. "I've been sober for a few weeks now," he continued. "And I've had time to think about what I've done. What I was." A pause.

"I was cruel. Spiteful. I know that. Your mother would've hated what I became. She would've left me the moment I laid a hand on you. And I don't have an excuse for that." His voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. "I'm sorry." Silence again.

Daisy stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Her mind flickered, too many versions of him layered over each other. The man he used to be. The man he became. The man sitting in front of her now, trying to stitch something back together that had already been torn too many times.

When she finally spoke, her voice was steady.

"Okay."

His eyes widened slightly. "Okay?" She nodded once, slowly.

"Okay." Then she leaned forward and placed her hands flat on the table. "I don't forgive you," she said simply, his face fell slightly. "I hope you get everything you want from the next twenty years," she continued, voice calm but firm. "Maybe you'll even meet your grandchildren one day. But it won't be soon. And it won't be because of me."

She stood up. "That's it."

"Daisy—stop," he said quickly, voice rising. "It can't end like— you need to—" But she was already stepping away, and she didn't look back.

"Goodbye, Dad," she murmured under her breath as she left. The air outside hit different, it was lighter and real. Daisy didn't stop walking.
She didn't text Cash straight away, didn't think. Just moved through the streets like her body finally had somewhere to go that wasn't stuck in her head.

By the time she reached the house, something in her had settled. Cash was already there when she walked in. Groceries half-spilled across the counter. Nan in the armchair watching TV like nothing in the world had changed. Cash mid-task, frozen when he saw her.

"Daisy!" he blurted immediately. "How'd it go?"

She dropped her bag by the door and shrugged lightly. "Good."

Cash narrowed his eyes instantly. "That's not an answer."

"It's an answer," she replied, moving into the kitchen. He was still unpacking groceries, way too many groceries. Daisy frowned. "Doug. Why is there so much food?" Cash stiffened.

"Just in case," he said quickly.

"In case of what?" she asked slowly. His silence answered her.

Daisy let out a short laugh, but it didn't land right. "You think you're leaving?"

"It's not that," he said carefully. "It's just—Amerie, Harper, the video, everything. We don't know what happens next."

Daisy shook her head once. "They're not going to say anything. I'll handle it. And Harper wouldn't—" She stopped herself, because she didn't sound sure.

Cash noticed immediately. "Yeah," he said gently, forcing a small smile. "It'll be fine." But none of them believed it. Even Nan glanced between them quietly, like she already knew this was only the calm before something worse.