Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
As far as I knew, my father and Bastian hadn’t spoken since that night. The last time they were in the same space, my dad had looked at Bastian like he’d stepped in something disgusting.
Years of built-up resentment came pouring out from my father in nasty accusations.
My father spat out how Bastian had disappeared when the family needed him, how all the fights and worry he’d caused had slowly chipped away at everyone.
Bastian took every word without fighting back which somehow made it worse. He just stood there and let my dad unload on him like he believed every ugly thing being said.
I hated it. Hated how quickly everyone seemed to turn on us. Aunt Clara and Uncle Stanley wouldn’t even be in the same room as us anymore. She’d just sigh and shake her head like I was a lost cause, and he’d give me these disapproving looks. A couple of my cousins sent awkward texts trying to be supportive, but they were clearly uncomfortable.
The whole thing felt like a fracture that might never fully heal.
But through all of it, the one thing I was completely sure about was Bastian. He could have run, could have left the drama and not dealt with it, but he stayed in his guest house, letting my father hurl nasty comments at him and took all the disgusted looks our family shot his way.
A week or so after everything had happened, I found Bastian sitting on the steps of his place with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept more than an hour or two. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his hair was messy like he’d been dragging his fingers through it all night.
When he heard my footsteps on the gravel, he lifted his head. Those tired, red-rimmed eyes met mine, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The air felt heavy between us.
I sat beside him, just as quiet as he was, not sure what to say or how to even start.
“I’m not leaving,” he finally said, his voice quiet but rough from lack of sleep. “Not unless you tell me that’s what you want.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder after that, and for long moments, we didn’t talk. We just sat there while the lake glittered in the early sun, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could actually breathe.
The days that followed were messy and tense in a way that settled into my bones. My dad wouldn’t let Bastian come to the main house anymore, but then again, Bastian didn’t even try. The rule was unspoken but crystal clear. So I started going to him instead. I’d walk across the yard in the middle of the day, sometimes carrying a plate of leftovers from dinner, sometimes with nothing but myself.
I stopped bothering to make up excuses. The first time I did it, my dad was out on the porch. He watched me cross the grass toward Bastian’s place, and the look on his face nearly broke me. Hurt, betrayal, and confusion all tangled together. But he never said a word, never tried to stop me. That’s how I knew his love for me—his daughter—was more powerful than any disgust or disappointment he harbored right now.
“Juliet,” my father said quietly before I got too far. His voice was thick, heavy with something between pain and exhaustion. “He’s my brother. How am I supposed to look at him… knowing what he’s done to you?”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stopped, my throat tightening until it hurt to breathe. I turned to face him, tears already burning in my eyes.
“He didn’t do anything to me, Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. “I chose him, and I’m still choosing him. Every single day.”
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes glassy and full of a hurt I didn’t know how to fix. I saw the conflict there, the love for me warring with the betrayal he felt toward his brother, toward the family he thought we were.
“I just…” His voice broke. “I don’t know how to protect you from this. From him. You’re my little girl, Juliet, and I feel like I’m losing you.”
Those words shattered something inside me, and tears spilled down my cheeks as I stood in the grass, feet from Bastian, feet from my dad, the weight of his pain pressing down on my chest.
“I still am,” I whispered. “But I’m not a little girl anymore, and I love him, Dad. I love him in a way I can’t walk away from.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stood there looking at me like his world was breaking right in front of him, then he turned and walked back inside the house.