For a moment, I want to reach out, to let myself lean on Caitlin the way I used to. But then the pain of our past pushed forward, and I pulled back, closing myself off again.
"Thanks," I murmer, looking away.
The silence returns, but it isn't as suffocating as before. Caitlin keeps her focus on the road, giving me the space I need, but ready to step in whenever I'm ready to let her. We still have a long way to go—not just to my dad's house, but between the two of us. There were wounds that hadn't fully healed, words that hadn't been said. But for now, in this moment, we're together. And that's enough.
As we drive the last stretch toward the house, the sun dips lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden light. I should feel peaceful, but all I can feel is the storm brewing inside me.
 I don't know what would happen when we got to the house. I didn't know if I was ready to face it. But with Caitlin beside me, at least I wasn't doing it alone.



When we finally pull up in front of the small, neglected house, my stomach twists. The lawn is overgrown, the windows covered in dust, and it looks as though it had been abandoned long before my dad's death.
I stand frozen in place as we step out of the car, staring at the house that holds so many complicated memories. I can feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the frustration of not knowing how to feel, of being abandoned by a man who was supposed to love me unconditionally.
Caitlin stands beside me, silent, her hand brushing against my arm but not pushing for more. 
Finally, I take a deep breath and step forward. "Let's get this over with."
Inside, the house is just as neglected as the outside. Dust coats every surface, the air stale and cold. I wander into the living room, my eyes scanning over the remnants of a life I hadn't been part of for years. Photographs of my father, but none of me. Awards and mementos of a life I don't recognize. It's as if I'd been erased.
Caitlin follows me silently, watching my every move. She knows better than to say anything. She can sense I'm on the verge of breaking down, and she's waiting for the moment to be there when it happens. 
As we begin to pack up my father's belongings, the silence grows heavier. Every object we touch seems to carry the weight of what had been lost between us—both me and my father, and me and Caitlin. 
It isn't until we come across an old, tattered photo album that I finally stopped. I sit down on the floor of my old room that had been washed away of everything I ever owned, my heart clenching at the sight of my younger self. There I was, a small child with wide eyes like my mother, smiling up at my father, back when things were still okay.
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
Caitlin kneels beside me, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. "It's okay to cry, you know."
I shake my head, my voice breaking. "I don't know if I'm crying for him or for me. He was never there for me after I came out. He just... left." I wipe at my face angrily. "Maybe I wasn't worth loving. Maybe I wasn't enough."
Caitlin's heart aches at my words. "You are worth loving, Elena," she says softly. "Your father's rejection wasn't about you. It was about him. He couldn't see you for who you are, and that's his loss. Not yours."
I look at her, my eyes filled with pain. "Then why does it feel like it's my fault? Why do I feel like I keep pushing everyone away?"
Caitlin hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Because you've been hurt, and it's hard to trust when you've been hurt like that. But you're not alone in this. You never were. You have people who care about you. Who want to be there for you, even if you don't always let them in."
For a moment, neither of us speak. My tears flow freely now, and Caitlin does the only thing she can think of—she pulls me into her arms.
I stiffen at first, but then, slowly, I let myself melt into Caitlin's embrace. I sob quietly, my grief and anger pouring out in a way I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years.
Caitlin holds me tightly, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. This was the Elena she had always known—the one who felt so deeply but tried so hard to hide it.



By the time we had finished packing up the house, the sun had started to set. The silence between us now was different—softer, more understanding. As twe stand outside, watching the house one last time, I felt a strange sense of closure. Not with my father, but with myself.
"I'm sorry you had to see me like that," I say quietly.
Caitlin shakes her head. "Don't be. I'm just glad I could be here with you."
I glanceat her, feeling a tug of something deeper. Something I wasn't ready to admit yet. But for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone.
"Thanks, Caitlin. For everything."
Caitlin smiles gently. "Anytime." Just as she turns to go to the car, she stops herself and turns back to me. "Can I ask you one question?" I stare back at her for a while, scared of what the question could be but then nod. "What was that book you picked up back there." I hesitate, taking a deep breath in. "You don't have to tell me?" Caitlin says quickly, but I shake my head because for some reason I want to tell her. 
"It was this diary I wrote while growing up here before I moved to America to play football professionally." I explain. "It was adressed to my mum." I add, quitely. 
"She's watching you with a proud smile on her face." Caitlin says, reaching out and squeezing my hand lightly. I nod, wanting to believe that because I didn't know enough about my mum to tell someone about her, but I hoped that she wasn't like my dad. That she would love me for me. That she would've walked me down that isle no matter who I was marrying because my dad wouldn't. 
"Thank you, Caitlin." I say, sincerely. 
As we drive back to the apartment, my mind swirls with everything that had happened. But I know one thing for sure—whatever had been broken between us, this moment had started to heal it.