Page 103 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

My voice cracked, but the words kept coming, tumbling out like water through a broken dam. “You let Kannon know you better than I did. You told him things I’ll never know. You gave him a part of you I didn’t even get to see. How is that fair? How is any of this fair? I’m your daughter. Was. I was the only kid and now you’re gone, but we both know you were gone years earlier for me. I should have been there for the good moments. I should have been there for the bad times. I could have handled it. You made me a stronger person.”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, feeling the anger and sadness twist together in a knot that made it hard to breathe. “And now I’m supposed to pick up the pieces? Pretend everything’s okay? It’s not. You left, and now nothing feels right. How am I supposed to go back to Miami and act like all is well when it feels like a part of me has died with you? How can I face Kannon and not see the secrets you shared with him, the bond you formed that excluded me?”

The reality of life without my father weighed heavily on my soul. I struggled to reconcile the man who raised me with the one who kept so many things hidden away.

“I needed you, Dad. More than I ever told you,” I continued, my voice breaking in the still night. “I needed your wisdom, your humor. I needed your presence. And now, here I am, talking to a cold plaque in the ground because you couldn’t trust me enough to let me in.”

I looked out at the dark cemetery. The shadows of headstones lined up in perfect rows with a few trees here and there.

“The world feels so empty without you,” I murmured. I leaned forward, my hand resting on the plaque as if I could somehow feel his presence there. The cold plastic under my hand was not what I was looking for.

“Excuse me.” A voice broke through my thoughts, startling me. I turned quickly, my heart pounding, to see a woman standing a few feet away, holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked about my age, her expression kind but hesitant. “Are you okay?”

My face flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I was just here to visit someone and I saw you,” she said. “I didn’t eavesdrop. I just saw you go down and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“No, don’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “You’re not interrupting. I just heard you, that’s all.”

I nodded, brushing dirt off my jeans as I stood. “I didn’t realize I was being so loud.”

The woman smiled faintly and stepped past me, laying the flowers on a nearby grave. “There is no noise ordinance when it comes to grief. You can grieve as loudly or as quietly as you want. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be out here at this time,” I said. “I probably sound crazy talking to the ground. His headstone will be done later.”

“It’s fine. My name is Kleo. Who did you lose?”

“My dad,” I said, my voice quieter now. “You?”

“My best friend,” she replied, her tone heavy with grief. Her eyes drifted to the flowers. I couldn’t see the headstone and I didn’t want to make a big deal trying to read it. “I get it, by the way. Your anger. I’m mad at her a lot these days for leaving me. We had so many plans—unfinished plans. Broken promises. It hurts every day.”

Her words tugged at something deep inside me. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “Yeah. I’m having that feeling with someone who’s still alive right now. I was just complaining to my father about it. How messed up is that?”

Kleo’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Let me guess. That someone is a man?”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Yep. A perfect, wonderful, infuriating, pig-headed, obnoxious, stubborn, idiot of a man.”

Kleo chuckled. “They’re a special breed, aren’t they?”

We stood there, sharing a moment of mutual understanding. I told her bits and pieces about Kannon—how he could make me feel like the most loved person in the world one minute and drive me to the brink of madness the next. Kleo listened, nodding along, her own stories about love and loss weaving into the conversation. It was good to vent to an actual living and breathing person instead of the cold ground.

“I should go,” she said after a while. “I’ll let you get back to your conversation with your father.”

“That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

She laughed. “Not at all. If people heard my conversations with my friend, they would call the people with the white coats.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself—or on him. You never know how much time you have with someone.”

I nodded, her words settling over me. “Thank you.”

As she turned to go, I glanced at the headstone she’d been visiting. The name etched into the stone stopped me cold. Leah Warner.

My breath hitched. “Wait.”