Work Text:
Do you remember when she came back from Florida?
Her and Eloise, bless their hearts, tried to hide the extent to which she had put her life on the line. When I found out later that she had been held at gunpoint, I actually lost my mind. And you know what she did? She laughed at me. If only I had known the kind of precedent that would set for the rest of her life. What did she see when she looked into the barrel of the gun? I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't stop her from living the way she wanted to (you and Joe were also guilty of encouraging her behavior but I won’t harp on that too much). When I realized that this wasn’t a one-off thing, that it was actually something she wanted to turn into a living, I tried to put a stop to it all but she never listened to me. But who would she have been if she did? Not the same person we knew and loved, I suppose.
After a while, I began to come around and did my best to be supportive of her. Really, I did. I thought that if I could not stop her, then I would do my best to assist and protect her. But even with the best of intentions, she resented me for trying to shield her from all the ugly things she encountered. You eventually had children of your own too so I’m sure you can understand. There were times where she was going too far, too keen to teeter on the line between life and death. I couldn’t stand it. I tried to interfere with her work too much. I lectured her too much. I told her how naive she was for showing mercy when confronted with the worst of humanity. I was angry with her for forgetting her sense of self-preservation for the sake of uncovering the truth. Can you blame me for this? I didn’t want to lose her.
But you never did any of this. Both of you were always in separate orbits, respecting each other’s agency, never suffocating one another like I so often did with her. Isn't that what love is? Giving each other room to breathe? But you were also so aware of one another, so in tune with what the other person needed, always knowing when to lend a hand and when to challenge each other. I should have taken a lesson from you but it's too late for that now.
In the end, it didn’t matter what I did. She died in River Heights, just twenty minutes away from where I was, in the confines of her own home. I was asleep as she and Ned bled out. Don’t you think it’s a shortcoming in human design that a parent cannot physically sense when their child is in pain? It fills me with shame to think that I was unaware of what was happening, that I couldn’t call for help, that I couldn’t even hold her hand as she took her last, labored breaths. The first job as a parent is to protect your child and the second is to comfort them and when it mattered most, I did neither. According to the autopsy report, she put up a fight before she was killed. At the very least, I can say she died how she lived: putting up a struggle.
Everyone tells me that she wouldn’t have wanted me to feel like I failed her, after all she knew I loved her and that I’d do anything to save her. Did she though? I’m not sure. For all my opposition to her willingness to confront danger head-on, I never actually did anything about it. I’ve lost count of the times she’s put herself in harm’s way while I was doing something completely innocuous, only to find out later the severity of the situation she was in. She would usually tell me nonchalantly in the car after I picked her up from the airport. I never said anything because I knew it wouldn’t change the decisions she made but I always ended up gripping the wheel too tightly on the way home.
You were so noble in the way you tried to put on a brave face after her and Ned died. I never got to thank you for taking over the funeral arrangements with Hannah when it was too difficult for me to do so. You were always looking out for her, even in death. I hope you know how grateful I am for everything that you did for me and her. I wish I had the chance to tell you this.
You and Joe had also begun to work on the case with the police. Both of you were so determined, so meticulous in your investigation. With your combined efforts, I was so sure that whoever did it would be caught and be brought to justice. Eventually, weeks turned into months and still no lead came up. We were all so angry in that first year but we were patient. We thought it was only a matter of waiting. Then years began passing by, and still no answers. By then, the case was essentially abandoned by the police and everyone had learned to live around the loss. But I didn’t and I don’t think you did either.
It was so obvious that it killed you for not being able to make sense of what happened to her and Ned even if you never said anything. You suffered in silence but then again, so did I. We could’ve talked about it but deep down, I think we knew that it was for the best that we didn’t. We would have spent the rest of our days trying to revive dead ends and conjure new leads. It wouldn’t have been healthy. I spent so much time reprimanding her when she risked her life for the truth but today I’d sell my soul for it, to find out who did it. If only she could see how the tables have turned.
Eventually, you announced you were giving up detective work. Joe gave you a lot of grief for this decision but I understood. You had claimed it was because you wanted to start a family (she would have been so happy to know that you and Callie had finally married), but there was more to it than that. I was able to tell how burnt out you were becoming. You spent so much of your youth looking out for your mother, for Joe, and for her. You were too young to be bound by a sense of duty. I wanted you to live for yourself. I wanted you to be happy, to have all of the best things the world had to offer, to have a life you could call your own and I know she wished the same for you too.
I hope you don’t think I’m disappointed in you for not giving us closure. You and Joe tried so hard. The dedication and brilliance you demonstrated in your career and life were some of the reasons she loved you so much. Ned was like a son to me and she was so happy with him but I know what you and she had was special even if neither of you had ever named it.
She experienced so much in the twenty-seven years she was alive. But there were still so many things she missed out on. She never got to see Bess and Henry get married. She never saw Joe become a father. She never sat at the bedside during Hannah’s last days to say her goodbyes. Before she died, she told me that she and Ned wanted to start a family in the next few years. Did she ever tell you that? I wasn’t expecting it but I was overjoyed nonetheless. She was always so devoted to her career that I hadn’t entertained the possibility I’d ever become a grandfather. It was wrong of me to think like this but secretly, I was also relieved because I thought that this meant she was one step closer to opting for a safer life, that having a child would ground her to reality. I didn’t tell her this, though. I knew it would spark an argument between us, and I wanted to enjoy the moment for what it was. But I know now, after all this time, that even thinking that parenthood could change her, that she could be changed at all, was an act of betrayal. It took her dying for me to see what you saw in her, to see what everyone else saw. She was like a statue, standing strong against the world in all her unadulterated glory and to believe that she could be anything else was foolish.
When everything is quiet and no one is around me, I let myself think about what life would have been like had she and Ned lived. I’d like to believe that our relationship would have eventually changed to something less oppressive, less taxing to her. I would be there for her as she embarked on the journey of parenthood. I would’ve welcomed the presence of a child in my world, giving me a chance of shaping another life and doing it right this time. But there will never be an opportunity for me to experience any of this now. It pains me to dwell on these things, so I try not to do it too much.
I’m very lonely nowadays. The only person I see regularly is my care aide, Robin. I tell Robin about her and all the adventures she went on. Robin says that she must have been a brave girl and must’ve learned how to be courageous from her daddy but I tell her that she’s wrong. She taught me about what it means to be brave, to value the truth and above all else, to be a good person. She was someone who everyone should strive to emulate yet all I did was try to put her in a box for it. It was the worst sin I could commit as a father and there is nothing I can do now to atone for what I did.
Despite the example she was for me, I think of all the ways I have become worse since she left us. I’m quick to anger now. I’ve isolated myself from our loved ones. I still think about what it would be like to find who did it and drive a knife in their stomach or squeeze their neck to watch life fade from them just to refuse them the same mercy that they denied her and Ned. In some ways, I am very lucky that she never got to see me like this. But still, I try to hold onto the lessons she left me with. I hope that she would not be too hard on me. Sometimes, I imagine her taking my hand and comforting me. Dad, it’s alright, I want her to tell me, you’re trying your best.
But now you're gone too. You left us eighteen years after she did, due to a sudden aneurysm, leaving behind Callie and your two daughters. Joe is doing a very good job helping them out. I know you were always hard on him for never being serious enough, but I promise that you would be impressed with the way he’s stepped up. He learned from you and you can be at peace knowing that.
There are so many things I want to tell you two, things I should have said when you were both alive. Perhaps, one day, when I meet you and her again, I can say all this properly and thank you both - for the people you were, for what you taught me, for everything.