Page 62 of Tuned To Break
Stella’s intake of breath is sharp. “Jake...”
“I was bigger than him by then, stronger. Could have really hurt him if I’d wanted to. But I just... left. Packed my stuff and walked out that night.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. Eighteen in a month. I was so angry, so fucked up about everything. Felt like I was drowning, like there was no way out.” I look down at the tattoo. “Got this a few weeks later. Thought it was deep—symbolic of how trapped I felt.”
“And now?”
“Now I think I was a stupid kid who made a permanent decision based on temporary feelings.” I turn my hand over, linking our fingers. “But I keep it as a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That things can get better. That feeling trapped doesn’t mean youaretrapped. That sometimes the darkest moments lead to something better.”
She brings our joined hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “What happened with your dad after that?”
“Nothing, really. He died in a car accident about five years ago. Drunk driving—surprise, surprise. I went to the funeral, but I felt... nothing. No grief, no closure. Just nothing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He made his choices.” I pause. “What about you? You never really talk about your mum.”
I feel her tense slightly against me, and for a moment I think she’s going to deflect or change the subject. But then she speaks, her voice quiet.
“Cancer. Pancreatic. By the time they found it, there was nothing they could do. It felt like the clock started ticking louder every day, and no matter what we tried, time just kept running out.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen. I’d just started at uni and was living at home while I figured out what to do with my life.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “She was sick for eight months. Eight months of hospitals and treatments and false hope.”
“That must have been hell.”
“It was. But Doc was amazing during that time. He was there every day—helping with appointments, bringing groceries, fixing things around the house. He and Mum were really close—she was his little sister, and he’d always looked out for her.”
“What changed?”
“She died on a Tuesday. Funeral was on Friday. Doc spoke at the service, talked about how much she meant to him, how he’d always be there for her family.” Her voice turns bitter. “By the following week, he’d completely disappeared from my life.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. No calls, no visits, nothing. I tried reaching out a few times, but he never responded. It was like I didn’t exist anymore. And once you’ve been abandoned like that, it’s hard to trust anyone won’t eventually do the same.”
I can hear the hurt in her voice—the confusion and abandonment that still lingers after all these years.
“Maybe he was grieving too. People handle grief differently.”
“Maybe. But I was eighteen years old, had just lost my only parent, and suddenly the one person who’d been like a father to me wanted nothing to do with me. That’s not grief—that’s abandonment.”
“Stella...”
“I know it sounds pathetic, holding onto that hurt for so long. But he was all I had left, you know? My dad was never in the picture, no grandparents, no other family. Just me, Mum, and Uncle Doc. When she died, I thought at least I’d still have him.”
“It doesn’t sound pathetic. It sounds like you were a scared kid who needed the one remaining family member to step up, and he didn’t.”
She shifts again, looking up at me. “Is that why you don’t want kids? Because of your dad?”
The question catches me off guard. “I... where did that come from?” I’d mentioned briefly that I didn’t think kids were for me. I’m almost thirty and figured if it were going to happen, it would have already.
