I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, trying to focus on anything but the knot twisting tighter in my stomach. The tension between us, between me and Caitlin, is as thick as ever, but this time it was different. It isn't just the leftover anger from out breakup; it's something more raw.
It is grief.
Caitlin glances at me every few moments, unsure of how to break the silence. She can feel the heaviness radiating from me.
Finally, Caitlin breaks the silence.
"You've been quiet," she says softly, keeping her eyes on the road.
My hand pauses, stilling on my shirt. I don't respond right away, not because I don't want to, but because I don't know what to say. My mind is a mess of conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, sadness. "I don't really know what to say," I admit, my voice low.
Caitlin nods, understanding. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
I sigh, leaning my head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. "It's just... weird," I murmer. "I haven't thought about him in years. And now, suddenly, I'm expected to care."
"Of course it's weird," Caitlin says, gently. "You went through a lot with him. You don't have to feel any specific way about this."
I turn my head slightly, watching Caitlin's profile. Her jaw clenched, her hands steady on the wheel. She looked so calm, so sure. And yet, I could sense the nervousness beneath the surface. Caitlin wasn't sure how to navigate this either, and for some reason, that made me feel a little better.
"I don't know how to feel," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I'd be relieved. But it's just... complicated."
Caitlin nods, again, her expression softening. "It's okay for it to be complicated. He was still your father, even if he hurt you. It's not always black and white."
I swallow hard, my throat tight. The memories of my dad flood back—good ones from when I was younger, and then the pain of losing him when I came out. Growing up it was only evwr me and him. "I hated him for so long," I say, my voice trembling. "But now he's gone, and I don't know what to do with all that hate."
Caitlin doesn't respond immediately, giving me the space to speak. After a moment, she glances over at me. "You don't have to figure it all out right now," she says, softly. "You're allowed to feel angry. You're allowed to feel sad. You don't have to forgive him if you don't want to. You just... need to let yourself feel whatever comes."
I look down at my hands, feeling the tears sting the corners of my eyes. I hadn't cried yet—not since the call. But Caitlin's words cracked something inside me. I don't  know if I can do this. I don't know if I can face my father's memory, let alone the house that had once been my home.
"I don't even know why I asked you to come with me," I say, my voice wavering. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this."
Caitlin shakes her head firmly. "I'm glad you did," she says, quietly. "I wouldn't want you to go through this alone."
I let out a shaky breath, biting my lip as I try to hold back the flood of emotions. "It's just... you're the only one who knows. About my family. About everything."
Caitlin's heart clenchs. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm here for you, Elena. No matter what."
I turn my head, meeting Caitlin's eyes for the first time since we'd gotten in the car. I can see the sincerity there, the care Caitlin still has for me, despite everything that had happened between us.