Page 77 of Falling For Us Again

Dylan

My fingers hover near the doorbell, suspended in a split second of indecision.

I shouldn’t be here. Not with how I acted the last time I saw her. Yet, here I am, standing outside Jenna’s front door.

The door opens before I have a chance to ring. Jenna stands there, her eyes narrowing slightly when she sees me.

“Dylan, what are you doing here?”

I shift to my other foot. “I was passing by. Were you going out?”

She doesn’t answer.

She hesitates for a moment, her hand still on the doorknob, and then steps back, wordlessly inviting me inside. I step into the living room, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air, mingling with the musty scent of old paper.

Jenna doesn’t say anything; she just nods toward the couch. She looks like she hasn't slept in days.

“Are you okay, Jenna?”

She gives me a distant look. “What?”

“Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head. “No, nothing. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Before I can respond, she disappears down the hallway. I sit on the edge of the couch, my fingers digging into the fabric. My eyes land on a journal half-hidden beneath a throw blanket.

I lean forward, pulling it free from under the pile. The journal is open, and the handwriting is elegant and feminine. It’s not Jenna’s handwriting.

I’m about to return the journal under the blanket when Jenna reappears, carrying two mugs. She freezes when she sees the journal in my hand, her expression hardening, and I feel the temperature in the room drop.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is sharp, cutting through the air like glass.

I raise my eyebrows not understanding the sudden hostility.

She hastily grabs the journal from me, and a letter with some pictures slip from the thick journal, fluttering to the floor like a fallen leaf.

I reach down to pick it up, but my breath catches in my throat as my fingers brush against the corner of a photograph that has slipped free.

The image is old and faded; the colors muted with age, but the face is unmistakable. My father stands in the photograph, a younger version, sure, but there’s no mistaking that’s my father smiling in a way I’ve seen before.

And standing next to him is a woman I don't recognize, but she bears an unmistakable resemblance to... I glance up at Jenna.

What the hell is going on?

I stare at the photo for what feels like an eternity, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“Why do you have this?” I ask, confused.

Jenna’s footsteps falter as she sees the photo, her eyes darting between my face and the image. “It’s none of your business.”

“This—” I manage to choke out, holding the photo up, “This is my dad.”

Her face pales, and she takes a small, involuntary step backward, her arms wrapping around herself like she’s trying to protect herself from my words.

“What did you say?” She echoes, she’s white as a sheet, her voice a hoarse whisper.

I nod slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. “That’s my dad, and—" I glance at the woman beside him, the connection dawning like a punch to the gut. "And that’s your mom, isn’t it?”

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