A Secret
SARAH
There was a silence after that. Not the awkward kind. The kind that felt almost necessary. Like we were both taking a moment to absorb the strange space between us.
Finally, he spoke again. “So, are you excited? About starting?”
I blinked, pulled back into the moment. “A little. I mean, I don’t know. I think I will be. Once I stop being terrified.”
“You’re going to be great. You’re going to walk in there and everyone’s going to fall for you. Professors, classmates… probably even the janitor.”
That made me laugh. “Now I have to impress the janitor too?”
“Especially the janitor,” he said, mock serious. “They’re the gatekeepers to all the good secrets. Plus, I bet they’ll love a girl who’s studying music therapy.”
That word again. Music therapy. Every time I said it out loud it started feeling more real.
“I hope I don’t mess it up,” I admitted.
“You won’t,” Cullen said. “But even if you do, I’ll still be proud of you.”
I don’t know what made me say it, but I whispered, “Thanks.”
“Anytime, wifey,” he said. And somehow the way he said that word didn’t make my skin crawl anymore. It didn’t feel like a title from a broken past. It felt… kind.
“So, I’ll talk to you later?” I said.
“Later,” he agreed. “And if you don’t pick up, I’ll call every five minutes and drive you insane.”
“You’re already doing a good job of that,” I teased.
He chuckled, and it made my chest warm.
"I love you." He whispered.
When the call ended, I sat there with the phone still in my hand, staring at nothing. I didn’t know where Cullen and I were going. I didn’t even know where I was going. But for once, I didn’t feel entirely alone.
When I went to dinner that night with my father, it seemed the earlier disappointment had quietly dissolved. He was back to his usual cheery self, talking as if nothing had happened, and I didn’t feel like bringing it up either. So, we let life carry on smoothly.
In the days that followed, I made an effort to keep my phone closer. Cullen was relentless. He called nearly ten times a day, especially in the mornings and evenings, unless he was “on a job,” whatever that meant. He never clarified, and I didn’t ask. Not because I wasn’t curious. I just wasn’t ready for that level of truth between us.
Sometimes we talked for hours until I fell asleep with the phone still on my ear. The messages? I don’t think I’ve ever written so many messages in my life. But it brought us closer. I was learning things about him, things I never thought I would care to know. And in return, he was learning things about me. All the things we’d skipped over in the early days of our marriage. All the blank spaces we left uncoloured. Now, we were filling them in. Slowly. It gave me hope.
When Monday arrived, I was already up. Dressed. Showered. I was sitting at my vanity, halfway through doing my makeup and trying to choose the right earrings. I knew this wasn’t the official first day of university, just a tour, just a glimpse. But still, I wanted to look good. Presentable. Capable.
That’s when I heard a knock on the door. My heart gave a small jump. My father rarely knocked on my door. It wasn’t part of our routine. Unless it was something important, something huge.
He might knock if he came home late and wanted to check on me, but not in the mornings. Not like this.
“Come in,” I called, assuming it was a maid, maybe coming to say Ryan had arrived or breakfast was ready.
But it wasn’t. It was Dad.
He stepped inside, and for a moment, he just stood there, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. I turned around slowly, a little surprised, my hands still holding one of my earrings.
“Good morning?” I said gently.
His eyes moved over me, from my half-finished hair to my freshly done face. “You look beautiful,” he said.
I smiled a little, unsure. “Thank you.”
He nodded, took a few steps in. “I just wanted to see you before you left.”
Now I was the one who didn’t know what to say. My father, who never missed a detail, who had always been protective to the point of control, was now just standing there, awkward in the doorway, no idea what to say".
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He took a breath. “Yes. I just… I know it’s just a tour. I know it’s not the real thing yet. But I wanted you to know that I’m proud of you.”
My chest tightened unexpectedly. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt different now.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered.
He smiled again, walked closer, and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“And if Ryan does anything stupid....”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll call you.”
He laughed, turned back to the door. “Breakfast is ready when you are.”
And then he left, leaving the door open behind him. I sat there in front of the mirror, holding my earrings, still adjusting to the strange swell of emotion from earlier, when there was another knock, light, tentative, but firm. I turned around slowly, raising an eyebrow.
“Seriously? You just left like… a minute ago.”
My father chuckled softly and stepped into the room again, unbothered. He walked in a little slower this time and came to stand behind me. We both looked at each other through the reflection. He reached out gently and began to play with my hair, smoothing it back between his fingers with a kind of reverence that felt oddly out of place.
“I’m not here looking for trouble,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that, not now.”
I nodded slowly, but my scepticism must’ve been all over my face. “Okay… then what is it?” I asked, my voice cautious.
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on my hair, his hands soft, slow, thoughtful. I tried to turn in my chair to look directly at him, but he held my head gently, keeping my gaze in the mirror.
“Just a little something,” he said quietly. “A secret I wanted to share.”
I waited, my curiosity slowly overtaking my confusion. “What kind of secret?”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
