Page 62 of Absolution

My mother does. She kisses each child on the forehead, even murmurs something warm to Levi, who surprises me by hugging her back.

She looks at me last.

“Safe flight,” she says, no trace of warmth.

“Thanks,” I answer flatly.

She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else. But she doesn’t. She just steps back as I usher the kids into the cab and shut the door behind us.

As we pull away from the house, I stare straight ahead. I don’t know if I’m running from something or toward it. But I know this: I am not my father.

And I’ll burn my life to the ground before I become him.

I’d already texted Jackie before we boarded, so she’s waiting at the curb by the time we land. The pickup lane is crowded, no room for long greetings. The kids rush into her arms before piling into the backseat. I slide into the passenger side.

She pulls out into traffic.

“So,” she says, glancing in the rearview, “did you guys have fun with Grandma and Grandpa?”

Instantly, the backseat erupts with stories. The puzzles, the beach, the pancakes Levi says were not as good as hers. Jackie listens, nodding, smiling, asking just the right questions at just the right time.

I sit beside her, half-listening. Half-somewhere else.

I’ve been here before. This feeling. This low, this ache, this quiet panic of waking up in a life I barely recognize and wondering how I became this version of myself.

Last time…

Last time was after the kids were born. When Jackie went into labour and I-

I pushed it down then. Because pushing it down was easier than facing it. But I can’t do that again. Not now.

Levi’s laughter rings out behind me, and I glance back. He’s leaning against Iris, showing her something on the tablet.

I don’t want him to grow up thinking silence is strength. Or that distance is dignity. I don’t want the girls to love men who disappear when things get hard.

If I want to be different, really different, then I need to do what my father never would.

I have to ask for help.

Chapter Nineteen

Jackie

“So, I can leave him,” I say.

Miguel Garbonza leans back in his worn desk chair, chewing slowly on a blueberry muffin I brought as a peace offering. He’s a law professor at Austin Community College, teaches family law and legal ethics, or so the course guide says. But the real reasonI’m here is because I heard through the grapevine that he used to be a high-powered divorce attorney until he got disbarred. No one says why. I didn’t ask. Honestly, I didn’t care.

I waited outside his office for forty minutes until he had a free break. Now here I am, sitting across from him while he wipes crumbs off his desk with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Well, yes,” he says finally. “Youcanleave him. But I’d suggest waiting.”

“Why?”

He puts the rest of the muffin aside and leans in. “Okay, listen. You’re in your first year of a program thatwilllead to stable employment. You’ve got some money saved from your inheritance, right?”

I nod.

“You’ve got a solid support system, siblings, correct?”

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