The road back to Valeria's place was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence. Streetlights passed overhead in slow intervals, each one casting her face in a brief golden glow before fading into shadow again.
She had her head leaned against the window, her breath fogging up the glass. For a while, I thought she'd fallen asleep. But then she spoke, voice low and rough.
"You know what I've learned?" she said without looking at me.
"What?"
She turned her head, a tired smirk pulling at her lips. "Men are dicks. You either hurt them first, or they hurt you in the end."
I let out a small laugh, though I knew she meant every word. "That's... uplifting."
"It's true," she insisted, sitting up a little. "You give them your heart, and they either take it for granted, or crush it just to see what it looks like broken." She sighed, leaning back again. "Better to stay one step ahead."
I didn't argue, but I couldn't quite agree either. "Not all of them are like that," I said softly.
She raised an eyebrow at me. "Yeah? You met one who isn't?"
I didn't answer right away, because the truth was, I hadn't. Love was still this distant, blurry thing for me, something I'd seen ruin more people than it saved.
Valeria turned back toward the window, her reflection faint in the glass. "Anyway... I'm just saying. Don't be stupid like me. Protect yourself."
Her words lingered long after she stopped talking.
When we finally pulled into her driveway, she didn't rush to get out. Instead, she lingered, fingers fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket.
"Thanks for tonight," she said, and this time it sounded heavier, like she wasn't just talking about the ride home.
"You don't have to thank me," I replied. "Really."
She hesitated, then nodded before finally stepping out of the car. I watched her make her way to the door, pausing to give me one last wave before disappearing inside.
When she was gone, the quiet hit me all at once. I sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, staring at the dark road ahead. I wasn't ready to go back. Not to that house. Not to the fake smiles and the careful pretending that this time would be different.
Instead, I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over his name Dad. I knew it wouldn't go anywhere. He didn't have a phone in there. But I typed anyway.
"Hey... I don't know why I'm doing this. I just... wish you were here. Not the you that's been gone for years, but the one from before. The one who made pancakes on Sundays and told me I was the best thing that ever happened to him. The one who promised that no matter what, we'd always be a team."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"I hate that you're not here. I hate what you did to Mom. I hate that you gave her reasons to leave. But... I still wish you'd been enough for her. I wish you'd been enough for me. I wish you could see me now and tell me I'm still your girl. I wish... I wish a lot of things, I guess."
I didn't send it. I just stared at the words until they blurred, then locked the screen and tossed the phone into the passenger seat. The message would stay there, unsent, like every other time.
The engine rumbled to life, I drove straight home. Streetlights flickered past my window, the night pressing in around me. I pulled into the driveway slower than usual, wishing I could make the moment before the front door opened last a little longer.
The second I stepped inside, her voice hit me like a slap.
"Amelia, do you have any idea what time it is?"
She was standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, her smile from earlier long gone. Greg lingered in the background, pretending to be busy with a glass of water.
I wanted to tell her I'd been taking care of Valeria. I wanted to tell her I wasn't doing anything wrong. But the words stuck in my throat because I knew she wouldn't care, not really. This wasn't about where I'd been. It was about me not fitting into the picture-perfect life she kept trying to build.
"I'm home now," was all I said, brushing past her toward my room.
I could still feel her eyes on my back, sharp and heavy, but I didn't turn around. Moments later, I heard footsteps behind me, steady and deliberate, until she appeared in my doorway.
"I know you don't like moving. I know you think this is just like before... but it's not. Greg's different. I feel like this... this could be it. A real home that we dreamed of. No more packing up and starting over."
She didn't just linger in the doorway. She came in, sitting on the edge of my bed like she used to when I was little. Her eyes were soft, searching mine, like she wanted me to believe her badly enough for it to come true.
"I've heard that before," I said quietly, my voice flat.
Her smile faltered instantly, the light in her eyes dimming as if my words had reached somewhere she didn't want to be touched. She let out a small breath.
"That's not fair, Amelia," she murmured, her voice trembling just enough to betray the hurt. "I'm trying. I really am."
I looked away, unable to bear the weight in her gaze. She sat there for another moment, like she wanted to say more, but instead she stood and left, closing the door softly behind her.
I didn't believe her. Not yet.
For a while, I just sat there, staring at the dim light pooling under the door. Guilt tugged at me, heavy and slow. I hated making her look like that; small, wounded, like I'd just kicked something fragile. But I couldn't pretend anymore. I'd been here too many times, unpacking in new bedrooms, meeting new men, calling them "Dad" only for it to all fall apart again.
Eventually, I pushed myself to my feet and wandered around the room. It was bigger than any bedroom I'd had before; High ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, a walk-in closet I didn't need. The kind of space that screamed money, all polished surfaces and carefully chosen furniture. It should have felt like a privilege. Instead, it just felt empty.
From the bottom of my bag, tucked away beneath clothes I hadn't bothered to hang, I pulled out a small photo frame wrapped in a worn T-shirt. Inside was a picture of us... me, Mom, and Dad. sitting on a picnic blanket one sunny afternoon, laughing at something I couldn't remember. We looked happy. Real. Like nothing could ever separate us.
I set it on the desk beside my bed, angling it just right so it would be the first thing I saw in the morning. For a second, I let myself pretend that photo was still my life, that if I closed my eyes hard enough, I could wake up back in that moment.
Then I crawled under the covers, the weight of the day pressing down, and let the darkness pull me under.