Dandelions

Connor

Edited 11/05/2025

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Connor couldn't say when parties stopped being fun. It wasn't a single night or a bad hangover, it just happened slowly. One day the champagne tasted flat, the company started to feel superficial, and every night started blending together. He still showed up, smiled at the cameras, did what he was supposed to do, but half the time he felt like he was watching it all happen from the outside.

He used to like the attention; it is not like he ever got it from his parents. They were always somewhere else, Paris, Milan, anywhere but home. They tried to buy him with money, as if it could fill the gap that they left behind. And for a while, Conner believed that lie.

Still, there was always that empty feeling after. Walking home from a night out and realizing he couldn't remember a single real conversation. Having everything he thought he wanted and feeling nothing anyway.

Love wasn't much better. It was all superficial, with girls trying to charm their way into his wallet, or absent parents that were too busy with living their best life than to bother with their only son.

Then he met Kameron.

She had this way about her that didn't fit in with the nightlife he used to lead. She was clear-headed, open, and never pretending to be more than she was. She laughed easily, asked questions that made you feel like she truly cared about your answer, and somehow managed to see past all the lies and the facade.

The expensive sport car he drove, the last name that hang on buildings, the curated version of him that worked for photo shoots—none of it mattered to her. She stayed even after seeing the mess he was, and that threw him off more than anything.

Connor didn't think he deserved her patience, but he wanted to be worthy of her love. So, he proposed—not out of confidence, but fear. Fear that if she left, he'd slide back into that quiet, hollow version of himself he'd worked years to escape.

She said yes.

The wedding was beautiful in the way weddings usually are—beautiful flower bouquets on the tables, music timed perfectly, her walking toward him looking ethereal. He smiled, said the vows, went through every motion that was expected of him, but part of him lagged behind. As if he was seeing a movie of his own life, and it still felt like someone else was the one getting married.

He blamed it on nerves, told himself that love grows if you give it time. So, he made the best to act as the steady husband, the dependable man she believed she'd married. What he didn't say—what he couldn't—was that part of him was still trapped in that cold, echoing house he grew up in.

She loved him anyway, and for a while, that was enough.

The honeymoon was simple. Late mornings, sunlight on white sheets, steamy sex. Moving into their new place felt like a clean page. The rooms were empty, but Kameron filled them with warmth, and Connor tried to believe that was all he needed to feel whole again.

Then one night, while folding laundry, she said she wanted a baby. He froze for a second, then smiled and told her they'd talk later.

Weeks went by, and the thought didn't leave him. It haunted him at times, popping up at the worst times possible. Whenever he tried to picture himself as a father, he saw his own dad instead, always on his trips and never there for him. He didn't want to repeat that, but he wasn't sure he knew how to be anything else.

Kameron, on the other hand, was sure of everything. She would've made an amazing mother, patient and loving. When she talked about having a baby, it wasn't dreamy or distant; it was with the certainty of someone who knew it would come to be.