My dad died when I was nine. One minute, he was in the kitchen flipping pancakes, humming off-key and laughing at his own bad jokes, and the next, he was on the floor.
I still remember the sound of the spatula hitting the tile.
The way Mom screamed and the flashing red lights outside our window. I held his hand the whole ride to the hospital, hoping and praying he’d open his eyes.
He never did.
Heart attack. Sudden. No warning.
He was our everything. The kind of dad who never missed a soccer game. Who built cardboard castles with me in the living room. Who danced with my mom while dinner burned on the stove, just because he liked the song.
After he died, the light in our house disappeared.
Mom stopped laughing, I stopped playing soccer, and the trophies gathered dust. The house got quiet — too quiet. It felt like we were both holding our breath all the time, waiting for something that would never come back.
For a long time, it was just the two of us, orbiting each other in silence, pretending that grief wasn’t eating us alive.
And then, one day, everything changed again.
So when my mom finally started dating again — five years after Dad died — I didn’t know how to feel.
His name was Ryan.
Ryan was… decent. Or at least, that’s how it seemed. He fixed stuff around the house before we could even ask. He’d help me with my math homework and ask about my art projects like he actually cared. He made my mom laugh again. Not the kind of laugh she used to have with Dad — but still, a real one.
Part of me wanted to like him. Part of me did like him.
But then there was that other part, the part that still woke up sometimes, thinking I heard my dad’s voice. The part that lived in fear of losing someone else. That part refused to trust him. Not fully.
And a few nights ago… I think that part might’ve been right.
Mom had left to visit her friend, and Ryan stayed home with me. I was supposed to be asleep, but I wasn’t tired. I was scrolling through my phone when I heard his voice, low and urgent, coming from the living room.
I froze because his tone didn’t sound like him.
Then I heard it.
“He’s asleep, so I can come over.”
My heart dropped. I sat up in bed and pressed my ear to the door.
“I’ll only have an hour,” Ryan said. “She won’t be back before then. Wait for me…I’ll walk.”
I panicked.
Who was he talking to? Was he cheating on my mom? Was she going to get her heart broken all over again?
My stomach twisted. I heard his footsteps coming down the hall. I jumped into bed, shut my eyes, and slowed my breathing like I used to when I played hide-and-seek.
The door creaked open.
Silence.
Then… it closed again.
I counted to 30 before grabbing my jacket and slipping out the back. The night air was cold, but adrenaline kept me moving. I stayed in the shadows, far enough behind that he wouldn’t see me, close enough that I wouldn’t lose him.
After ten minutes, he turned onto a street I recognized — my aunt’s. My mom’s sister.
My heart raced.
Why would he go there? At night? Alone?
He walked straight up to her house, and the porch light flipped on.
Then… she opened the door, smiling, and let him in.
I ducked behind the hedge across the street, staring at the door.
What the hell was going on?
My phone buzzed. A text from Mom: “Be home soon. Want Thai food?”
I stared at the screen, barely able to think.
Inside that house — something was happening. Something I didn’t understand yet. But I knew one thing:
Ryan was hiding something, and I was going to find out what.
Then after a few minutes, the front door creaked open again. I held my breath, then I heard my aunt’s voice float into the night:
“Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything?”
My brain exploded.
My aunt?
What the hell was she doing helping him sneak around behind my mom’s back?
I saw them disappear down the hallway, and through the window, two shadows moved toward her bedroom. My pulse skyrocketed. My hands clenched into fists.
I didn’t think. I couldn’t think.
I grabbed the first rock I could find from the street, something jagged and heavy, and sprinted toward the window. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. All I knew was that I had to stop him before he ruined her life. Before he broke her the way we were broken after Dad.
I raised the rock, my hand trembling. And just as I was about to throw it—
BANG!
The front door behind me swung open.
“WAIT!” my aunt’s voice cut through the night like a siren.
I froze mid-motion, heart still thudding against my ribs. The porch light flared on behind her, flooding the front yard in pale yellow.
Inside the house, more lights snapped on.
Ryan stood in the hallway, looking like he’d just seen a ghost — except he wasn’t holding guilt.
He was holding… a box. A small silver-wrapped box with a neat white ribbon.
I blinked, breath caught in my throat.
My aunt hurried to me, gently lowering my arm.
“Honey,” she said softly, her voice shaking but calm, “it’s not what you think.”
I looked from her to Ryan, then back again, completely disoriented.
Ryan stepped forward slowly, still holding the box. His voice cracked. “I’m… I’m proposing to her tonight,” he said, eyes wide. “I just needed help setting everything up. I was trying to keep it a secret. I would never hurt your mom. Or you.”
The rock slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud. All the tension drained out of me in an instant, leaving nothing but shaky relief and a deep, aching wave of embarrassment.
My knees almost buckled.
“Oh my god,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “I thought you were…I mean, I really thought—”
Ryan smiled nervously. “Yeah. I got that.”
We all walked home together — me, my aunt, and Ryan — in the thickest, most awkward silence imaginable. I kept my eyes on the ground, my face still hot with embarrassment.
Ryan clutched the silver box like it might explode if he dropped it. My aunt kept glancing at me like she was trying not to laugh… but also like she might cry.
When we reached the front steps, my stomach was still in knots. The porch light flicked on as my mom pulled into the driveway.
I swear, time slowed.
She stepped out of the car, smiling at the sight of us — until she noticed our weird formation and my guilty expression.
“What’s going on?” she asked, halfway laughing.
Ryan cleared his throat. “Can we talk inside?”
We stepped into the living room. I stood by the wall, heart hammering as I watched Ryan fumble with the box. My mom’s brow furrowed. Then, he dropped to one knee.
She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.
“Your smile brought me back to life,” Ryan said, his voice shaking. “I know I can never be him. I know how much he meant to you. But I want to be here…for you, for your son, for everything that’s next.”
My mom’s hands trembled as he opened the box. Inside was the most delicate ring I’d ever seen — simple, elegant, perfect.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. Then louder: “Yes!”
She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him. And just like that, something shifted in the air like a door had opened.
A door we didn’t know was still closed.
Three months later, they had a beautiful wedding in the park where my parents used to take me on Sundays. My mom wore a dress that made her look like she had finally exhaled after holding her breath for years.
And for the first time since my dad died, the house didn’t feel silent anymore.
There was music. Laughter. Real joy.
And somehow, it didn’t feel like we were replacing Dad. It felt like we were remembering how to live.
That night, as we sat together on the couch, Ryan turned to me and said:
“So… still planning to throw rocks at me, or are we good now?”
Leave a Reply