Dare to Fall

Chapter XXXV

*** Before ***

I miss our old house. 

The memory of it lingers in my mind like a fading photograph, one that I can't quite shake off. I often wonder, what happened after we left? Did the walls still echo with laughter? I hope my dad is okay, even though I learned last night that he'd been shot in the knee. That news rattled me. It makes me think—if we went back today, would the house still feel like home? Or would it be a hollow shell, filled with the ghosts of our past?

This morning, I woke up in my grandmother's house. The sunlight streamed through the window, bathing my room in a warm glow. My room here is a stark contrast to my old one, painted in pastel blue, which always felt soothing. But now, it only reminds me of what I've lost. We're staying at Nana's place, and while it's large and spacious, I never felt like I belonged here—not even once.

Nana lives a bit further away from our old house, nestled between two cities, where the sun rises and sets beautifully. But the beauty of the surroundings does little to fill the void I feel. Maybe it's just a lingering feeling that I have—a sense of not fitting in at my own home, our own home.

I went through my usual morning routine, the mechanical motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face doing little to dispel the heaviness in my chest. After that, I headed downstairs to grab some breakfast.

Today, I'm skipping school. It's not because I don't want to go or because today is the Father-Daughter/Son field trip. My mom said it would be better for us to stay home for a while after the shooting last night.

"Hailey," my mom called from the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans punctuating her words as she rinsed a hot pan under cool water. "We should go."

"Just give me a minute to change," I replied, trying to steady my racing heart. My dad had called my mom around 5 AM, telling her that we should meet up with him so he could explain what had happened.

As much as she didn't want to see him after everything, we both needed answers. I didn't want to carry anger towards my dad without knowing the full story.

I dashed upstairs, pulling on a black and white striped hoodie and a pair of leggings. I slipped on my white Converse, then rushed downstairs where my mom was already waiting by the door, car keys in hand.

In just fifteen minutes, we arrived at the local coffee shop. The scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloped me as we walked in, and I felt a flicker of warmth in my heart. I'd always wanted to work as a barista. I remember the first time I visited a coffee shop when I was six, mesmerized by the barista crafting drinks like a magician conjuring spells.

We ordered our drinks—my hot chocolate and my mom's latte—then settled at a table, waiting for my dad to arrive. My mom drummed her fingers on the table, the rhythmic tapping matching the anxious thumping of my heart.

Minutes later, my dad walked in. His face, lined with worry and exhaustion, softened when he spotted us. "Honey," he said, addressing my mom as he approached our table. I watched as he leaned in, clearly hoping for a kiss on the cheek. But my mom just sat there, her body tense. He sighed and took a seat across from us.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. "Here's your hot chocolate and latte. Enjoy!" She smiled before leaving. I took a sip of my drink, the warmth spreading through me, but it did little to ease the chill of uncertainty hanging in the air.

"How's school?" my dad asked, glancing between us. "Don't you have a Father-Daughter field trip today?"

I felt the bitterness rise within me. "How can I go when I don't have a dad to go with?" I replied, my tone sharper than intended. The moment the words left my mouth, I felt the weight of them—an accusation that echoed my hurt.