Chapter Text
Dire Crowley never could have imagined this being the outcome when he first met Dahlia Grimmstone. He wouldn’t say it came suddenly, in fact, it had been painfully predictable. But when the edges of their relationship began to crack and fray, he sat there with Elmer’s glue and tape, holding on to the delusion that he could fix it. The failure of their marriage was gradual and obvious, and that made Dire feel all the more like an idiot for holding on so long.
Many years ago, Dire would have said that it was worth it. Because if he hadn’t held on, he would never have gotten to hold his little nestling. Never would have heard her giggles fill a quiet room. Never would have looked into her wonder filled eyes hoping to somehow be good enough to deserve the love held behind them. And for a moment there, he didn’t care about all the cracks, because it had lead him to her. But Dahlia cared. She couldn’t just sit and leave them be when it felt like the very ground was collapsing beneath her.
It was their 6th wedding anniversary when Dahlia asked for the divorce. Just a few weeks after their child, Mara, had turned three years old. Dire can barely remember anything they said that day, yet he finds himself recalling the scene frequently.
They were sat on the barstools by the kitchen counter. He watched as Dahlia fiddled with the edges of her sleeves. Mara had just been put to sleep for the night. They were silent for a while. He remembers that they argued. Not a loud argument, with every word yelled and coated in ire. No, this was a quiet argument, but the hole it left behind was so much worse than any rage fueled spat they’d had. And Dire remembers that feeling of hopelessness as he sat, reading over the paperwork Dahlia had served him.
Dire had been fully prepared to settle the divorce out of court. That wasn’t what happened. Dahlia had bottled up so much hatred and frustration over the course of their relationship, that when she finally let it out, she couldn’t find it in herself to stop. Every word became bitter and laced with aggression. Dire felt like the following two years went by in a haze.
They had separated early on in the proceedings. Dire had noticed the way every conversation turned into an argument, but when it became clear that his three year old daughter had noticed as well, he figured it was better for her to have a separated home than a dysfunctional one. Dahlia had argued for him to move out from the beginning, and was rather pleased when he finally did so. He didn’t see Mara as often after that.
God, why didn’t he notice sooner? The thoughts echo in his head as he hears his call ringing. It goes to voicemail. It’s been a year and a half since the divorce finalized. Dahlia got full custody. He knew courts tended to favor mothers over fathers, but somehow he didn’t expect it to happen to him. Then again, Dahlia always had been more charismatic than him. At first they had scheduled for Dire to keep Mara for one weekend each month, if only because Dire made sure to be persistent in his request. Each month was worse than the last. Mara grew more distant each time and he couldn’t stop the gut wrenching pain he had felt when the biggest smile she’d give him was when he would tell her that Mommy was coming to pick her up.
Dire leaves a message, trying not to stare at the growing list of missed calls.
What was even the point? Mara never seemed happy around him anyways. Maybe it was better that she didn’t come around anymore. Dire feels his heart clenching at the mere thought, but tries to brush it off. His attempt fails miserably, as tears start to well up in his eyes. He glances down at his phone. The text from Dahlia said Mara apparently had wanted a play date at a friend’s house today. That was what she said the last two times. But when he finds his call once again going to voicemail, he just pushes the phone away. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, Dire covers his face with his hands, trying to ignore the wet feeling seeping into his gloves.
Maybe next month.
~~~~~~~
Mara is hanging on by a thread. Everything was working out for once in her life and now this. She stumbles back from the closet and onto the bed, holding the little stash of cards she was never meant to find. God, why didn’t Mom just throw them away? It would have been simpler. Instead, Mara has to sit here, facing the consequences of that decision.
They’re birthday cards. Years and years of cards from a man Mara never cares to think about. The problem isn’t what they are. It’s why on earth they exist in the first place. Mara looks through them slowly, her mind not fully present. Her mind retraces every fact she thought she knew, every word Mom had ever told her. Mom said he left. That he stopped contacting them for the meet ups. Mara thinks through each time Mom held her, whispering soothing words about how she still loved her, how Mommy would never leave her like that. Each time she got upset about him not being there, Mom would reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, he just wasn’t a good person. Mommy’s here for you.
But these cards. These damn cards. If he had just left her, stopped contacting them, stopped showing up for meet ups like Mom said, these cards wouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t exist. It goes against everything Mara thought she knew about her childhood. God she feels sick.
She looks over to the closet, still messy from where she was rifling through paperwork. All she wanted was to find her medical records. Mom had never been good at keeping documents straight, but Mara wanted to save herself the hassle of a phone call to see if they already had copies at home. She takes a deep breath. Slowly walking over to the closet, she continues searching for papers. It’s fine. She’ll deal with this later. She just has to finish up before Mom gets home. Then she can try to sort out… everything. It’s fine.
At a pace that was simultaneously rushed yet methodical, Mara sorts through the remaining paperwork in Mom’s closet, setting aside any documents that she might have use for. She allows herself to sink into the tedious task and zone out of the unsettling situation she stumbled into. She’s just finishing up when her phone plays a familiar jingle. Tobi’s nap time is about to end. He’ll be waking up any moment now. She steadies herself, gathering the documents, hand hovering over the pile of cards she had yet to put back. She hesitates.
Mom won’t notice, she thinks, before sweeping them on top of her gathered pile. She tries to ignore them as she heads to her bedroom, setting the pile into a drawer. She’ll deal with it later.
Mara goes about her day, thoughts never quite leaving that drawer. She’s sitting on the carpet zoning out when a small hand grabs onto her knee. She startles, turning to look at the little face staring up at her, a large grin stretching across the baby fat of his cheeks.
“Mama! He’s a bizard!” Tobi shouts out gleefully, practically climbing over her as he shoves a doll in her face. She blinks, gently pushing his arm away so she can actually see what he’s showing. The action figure soldier in his hand has a colorful hat on from one of the witch dress up dolls. She looks at the odd combo in slight bewilderment, before giving a smile to Tobi.
“He’s a very cool wizard. What’s his name?” Mara asks gently. Tobi pauses his squirming for a moment, with a look of worry on his face.
“He… he has no name. Do he need a name?” Tobi asks, looking at the ‘wizard’ for a moment, before giving a firm nod, a smile back on his face, “This is Pancake!”
Mara looks over the ‘wizard’ with a serious expression before nodding as well, “Sir Pancake then. If he’s an important wizard he needs an important title.” Toni’s face lights up more, before pushing out of Mara’s lap and twirling Sir Pancake around, quietly mumbling the name repeatedly as if doing some sort of ritual. Mara simply watches in exhausted amusement.
She tenses slightly as she hears the sound of a key sliding into the lock on the door. As it opens, Mara doesn’t look back at her mother, even as Tobi rushes past her.
“Gramma, look, look, Sir Pancake!”
Mara glances slightly over, but doesn’t follow after. Instead, she tidies up some of Tobi’s toys, the weight of her thoughts once again seeping into her, no longer distracted by Tobi’s cheerful musings. Standing up, Mara quietly approaches, taking the grocery bags out of her mother’s hands.
Dahlia gives her a smile in thanks, before bending down to properly greet Tobi. Mara can’t help but feel a tug of doubt in her stomach. An action that usually seemed so caring now leaves her with a pit of dread. What else is she hiding? Is she manipulating me right now? Does she actually care? Mara tenses, trying to forcefully eject her line of thought as she heads to the table, setting down the grocery bags. Putting the groceries away, she silently listens as Tobi drags Dahlia over to his toys, messing them back up as he loops his grandmother into whatever his new game is.
It’s fine. Everything is fine right now. Mara allows herself to drift off again, mind returning to the drawer. It’s fine.
After setting Tobi to bed for the night, pushing through the fuss and tears, Mara tiredly steps back into the living room to see Dahlia sitting on the couch. Mara silently makes her way past her, crouching down to pick up Tobi’s toys strewn about the room. She pauses when grabbing Sir Pancake, setting him at the top of the toy box. Standing up, she passes a glance to Dahlia, who’s reading something. With a mumbled good night, Mara heads towards her room.
“It’s a little early isn’t it?” Dahlia comments. Mara’s steps stutter. Her lips twist into a slightly tight smile as she looks over her shoulder.
“Just a bit worn out from today.” Dahlia hums in acknowledgment, as Mara continues to her bedroom.
The moment she enters, her eyes are drawn to the drawer involuntarily. She forcefully looks away, taking a deep breath.
She locks the door.
Opening the drawer she reads over all the words already ingrained in her mind. The last time she saw him, she was five. The newest card is dated for her 14th birthday. Nine years, that’s how long he kept trying to get in contact before he gave up. Nine years that she thought her father left her, that she wasn’t good enough for him anymore. Nine years that mother lied to her.
She looks at the envelopes. They all have a specific return address. Mara stands up, walking over to her desk and typing in the address. It turns up the post office for Night Raven College.
Night Raven College. Mara had heard of it. She remembers a neighbor from her childhood who had graduated from there. She recalls the way her mom’s face twisted in displeasure every time it came up. Mara clicks to a new tab, searching for Night Raven College faculty.
She finds a number that matches the name on the card. Dire Crowley. Somehow, it had never bothered her that she didn’t even know her father’s name. Dahlia only ever referred to him as ‘him’ or ‘that man’, or at absolute most as ‘your father’, and even that was only when she was little. Despite that, Mara feels a sense of emptiness over this lack of knowledge for the first time. Dire Crowley. The name reads as a stranger’s. She doesn’t know how long she spends staring at the number.
She takes out her phone and dials. It clicks.
“Hello, this is the Night Raven College front desk, how may I help you?” A woman’s voice, cheery and all too dead inside answers.
Mara takes a deep breath. “Hi, I’d like to talk to Dire Crowley. Tell him it’s Mara Grimmstone.”