Proud Of You
SARAH
He went silent for a while, and I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning.
"Music therapy," he finally repeated. "That’s... that’s actually amazing."
"You think so?" I asked, suddenly feeling nervous, like maybe he’d say it was a waste of time or that it didn’t suit me.
"Yeah. I mean.... God, Sarah, do you even know how healing you are going to be to a lot of people? You’ve got that thing. It’s like... I don’t know. Maybe you were meant for this."
His words made my heart tighten in my chest. I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever said things like that to me. No one had ever looked at me and seen anything worth healing in.
"You’re being sweet," I finally muttered.
"No, I’m being honest," he said. “You have no idea how much I admire you. Not just because you’re strong or because you’re beautiful, though God knows you are such a perfect human specimen but because you keep trying. Even after everything.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just let the words wrap around me like a blanket.
"And hey," he added, his voice softening even more, "if you’re doing music therapy, I’ll be your first patient. God knows I have issues."
I laughed. Hard. "You definitely do."
"See? I’ll keep you in business."
We both laughed, and for the first time all night, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Like maybe this was something that could actually work, not just school, not just the secret meetings or the whispered calls but us. Cullen and I.
"I’m proud of you," he said after a pause. "Really proud."
"Thank you," I said. What he said had made me feel .... Things I couldn't explain.
"I love you, wifey."
"I love you too."
And as I hung up, I stared at the phone in my hand for a long time before setting it on the nightstand.
Did Cullen just say he loved me?
Did I just respond that I loved him too?
Wait, did that actually happen?
I shook my head, trying to ground myself. Hope bloomed fast inside me, like a flower pushing through cracks in the pavement, but I shook my head again. No. He couldn't have meant it. It had to be a slip of the moment. He was just happy—for me, for us. I had just woken him up. I caught him fresh from sleep, his voice still lazy and warm. It didn’t mean anything.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I told myself not to let it get stuck in my head. But it was already there.
I told him I loved him too. Did I? I wasn’t sure. So if I wasn’t sure, why did what he said feel so heavy, like it meant everything? Maybe because I wanted it to mean something. Maybe because a part of me feared it did.
Still, I had to push it to the back burner. Bury it. Drown it. Forget it. But the truth? I couldn't sleep.
I probably only caught an hour or two, and when morning came, I was already awake before the sun even had the chance to rise. I slipped out of bed, took a long shower, and made my way down to breakfast, walking on autopilot.
I was the first one at the dining table. And when my father walked in and saw me sitting there, he paused at the door, squinting like he thought he was dreaming.
“Angel?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said, standing up from my seat. “Good morning.” I walked to him, hugged him tightly, and kissed both his cheeks. He kissed my forehead gently.
He walked with me to the table and held my chair out, the way he always did when he was in a good mood. Once I sat, he moved to his seat.
“You’re up awfully early today,” he noted, eyeing me carefully.
I nodded. “Yeah... I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?” he asked, curious but not pressing.
“I don’t know. Maybe excitement. Maybe I’m just… a little nervous.”
He smiled and reached across the table to take my hand, a rare gesture that made my chest feel warm.
“I’m proud of you. Whatever it is. So tell me, what did you decide?”
I hesitated for a second, then went for it.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “I know this is not interesting, and it probably won’t help with anything related to the family...”
“Sarah, wait,” he cut in gently. “This was never about you helping anybody but yourself, okay? I want you to study something because it helps you. Because you want to do it. Not because of me. Not because of anyone else.”
“Okay,” I said, a small breath of relief slipping out. “Then I decided to study music therapy.”
My father paused for a moment, as if he needed to run the words twice in his head.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he said, blinking. “I never expected that.”
“I know,” I admitted. “But I started playing the piano again. And I know I’m not that good yet, but maybe I could take classes, get better. I just thought it was something meaningful. I mean....it’s therapy.”
My father laughed, a full, warm laugh, and when he looked at me again, there was something in his eyes. Pride, sure. But also something deeper. Something protective, hopeful. Maybe even belief.
“I am super proud of you,” he said, still holding my hand. “And you’re going to make a great music therapist.”
He didn’t let go of my hand right away. He just sat there for a moment, holding it, staring at me with that soft, steady look only he had. For a second, it made me feel like I was five again, like the world was still small and simple and good.
“I’m really proud of you, Sarah,” he said again, quieter this time, almost to himself. “I don’t say it enough, but I am. And your mother… she would’ve been proud too.”
That hit me harder than I expected. I smiled through the weight in my throat and nodded.
“Thank you, Dad.”
He gave my hand a final squeeze and leaned back in his chair.
“Now… eat something. You’ll need your strength. Ryan and Ronan will be here before lunch.”
Just like that, the weight came back. Different this time. It hit harder somehow.
"Ronan?"
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