Chapter 8
The new tickets arrived on a Tuesday.
Dad printed the itinerary because I asked him to.
He placed five copies on the table.
I touched the page with my name on it.
It was not torn.
Not hidden.
Not canceled.
I knew a piece of paper did not guarantee happiness. I had learned that already.
But this one had been chosen openly, with all of us in the room.
That mattered.
I hung it above my desk.
The legal case continued while we planned. Dad’s divorce proceedings moved through separate meetings and disclosures. He looked exhausted some evenings.
I asked once whether he regretted marrying Vanessa.
He thought before answering.
“There were good times,” he said. “I regret not listening sooner when things changed.”
“Would you marry again?”
“I don’t know. Right now, I want to be a better father.”
I smiled.
“That’s a good plan.”
He agreed.
Vanessa wrote me a letter through Adrienne.
Dad told me it existed and let me decide when to read it.
I waited a week.
Then I opened it with Dr. Reed nearby.
She admitted canceling my ticket without Dad’s consent. She said she wanted time with her children and believed I would make the trip uncomfortable because I often seemed unhappy.
I stopped reading.
Dr. Reed waited.
“She’s making my unhappiness the reason.”
“Yes,” she said gently. “Do you want to continue?”
I did.
Later in the letter, Vanessa admitted the school application was her decision. She said she thought a structured environment would help.
There was no direct sentence saying she lied about Dad approving it.
No direct sentence saying she used his money without asking.
I folded the letter.
“I don’t want to answer.”
“You don’t have to.”
I left it with my records.
I could hear an apology without pretending it had said everything.
Kendra asked about the letter.
I told her I read it.
She did not ask what it said.
“I’m seeing a counselor too,” she told me.
“Because of your mom?”
“Because I need to understand why I kept believing things I could have checked.”
I nodded.
We sat on the floor and chose clothes for the trip.
She held up the yellow dress.
“You’re taking this?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
“I almost threw it away.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“You said so when we packed your bag.”
I had forgotten.
She had remembered.
That was one small way trust returned.
Isaiah helped Dad check the travel arrangements. He called the hotel directly to confirm rooms and wrote down the airport pickup information.
He showed me everything.
“Not because you need to be responsible,” he said. “Because I don’t want you wondering.”
I thanked him.
At school, Bree asked if I was finally going.
“Yes.”
“Then send me a beach picture.”
“I will.”
“And be in it.”
I laughed.
“I will.”
Two weeks before departure, Vanessa’s case reached a resolution. The records established her responsibility for unauthorized transfers and false documentation. She accepted consequences that included restitution and court-ordered conditions.
Darren answered for the conduct the records showed he knowingly participated in. Some of the money was recovered; the remainder became part of the repayment obligations.
Dad explained only what I needed.
“They were held responsible,” he said. “You weren’t the cause.”
“I know.”
I did know.
I was surprised by that.
Earlier, those words would have required an argument inside my head.
Now they could simply be true.
Dad’s divorce was finalized later that spring. He told me while we ate breakfast.
I asked if he was sad.
“Yes.”
“Are you still sure?”
“Yes.”
I reached across the table and held his hand.
We could both be sad without going backward.
On the night before our flight, I packed my suitcase again.
The yellow dress went on top.
Then my sketchbook.
Then the flower-shaped tag Isaiah returned.
Dad knocked.
“Ready?”
I looked at the open suitcase.
May you like
“Yes.”
This time, I believed it.
