Page 55 of Saving Little Lina: Part Two

It was his way of talking about his depression, about the darkness consuming him. Every word held an unspoken plea for help he couldn't bring himself to articulate.

My next questions faltered in my throat. "Do you..." I started, faltering, "Do you like reading books? They can sometimes feel like sunshine during those rainy days... "

Dean finally turned away from the window, his expression clouded. "Yeah. used to read all the time. Haven't cracked one open in what, months now? Words..." he shook hishead, a sad chuckle escaping him, "they just seem like hollow shapes on a page now. It's like...the world gets muted somehow, you know?"

His words painted a bleak picture, one I was afraid to confront directly. It felt like walking on eggshells, afraid one wrong question might make him retreat further into himself. Yet, a stubborn streak in me refused to give into the silence. I could barely find him, and I wasn't ready to lose him again.

"There's this thing tonight..." I began, hesitantly twisting the ring on my finger, unsure of the reception my words would find. "A singing competition in the park. Just a silly little thing... figured..."

A flicker of something danced in his eyes before fading faster than I could grasp its meaning. It wasn't enthusiasm, but I wasn't sure if it was disinterest or weariness. The urge to reach out, to gently cover his hand with mine, was almost overwhelming. Just a simple brush of skin as reassurance. And yet, when my fingers did reach out, they hovered an inch above his arm before he flinched. This reaction wasn't borne of anger, but something deeper. Was it me? Had my attempts to bring light into his world become an act of cruelty? Did my existence serve as a glaring reminder of a happiness he'd abandoned any hope of claiming?

But a stubborn thread of hope refused to be broken. "We could maybe try? Together?" My words hung awkwardly in the thick silence of the room. "It could be…well, not fun, exactly, but just something different?"

Slowly, as if every movement required immense effort, Dean straightened. I saw the familiar, bleak mask sliding back into place, but beneath it, something flickered – a tiny, desperate spark against the overwhelming darkness.

"Alright," he finally managed, voice ragged. "Maybe...we could give it a try."

A rush of relief flooded me, but it was soon tempered by a cold wave of dread as we drove. I signed us up for the open mic, opting for a duet slot at the end of the list. Taking our seats, a strange pang went through me as I observed other father-daughter duos. They bickered jokingly, exchanged whispers and knowing glances – the casual ease of those bound by years of shared history. My stolen glances met with Dean's blank stare into the distance. This wasn't just awkwardness of strangers; it was something thicker, an invisible chasm yawning between us.

I watched that same vacant gaze as the competition started, seeing how each cheerful smile, each round of applause seemed to cut a tiny wound in him. When our names were finally called, the look in his eyes wasn't stage fright. It was despair, the chilling certainty of his own defeat. I knew before he even opened his mouth to refuse.

Suddenly, I was on stage alone, microphone clutched in my sweaty palm. It wasn't about the singing anymore, or about winning. Each note that poured out of me was a desperate plea, a wordless conversation meant only for Dean. I chose a song about childhood joy lost and found, a bittersweet melody full of both lament and defiance.

There he sat, utterly still, eyes hollow pools reflecting the harsh stage lights. His face was a mask, one I wished I could crack open, reach in and mend. Yet, a single tear traced a silent path down his cheek, evidence of something deeply stirred within him. This wasn't indifference, I realized. This was an acknowledgment of the invisible wall he had erected around himself, and a glimpse of the pain it cost him to maintain it.

The drive home was an oppressive silence. Each passing streetlight illuminated the unspoken sorrow clinging to us both. With every turning wheel, it felt as if my father, the man I was barely beginning to know, was slipping away once more.

There was an undercurrent of guilt as we passed neon signs reflecting in his tired eyes. He may be battling darkness, but inside me, there was still a melody he couldn't extinguish. Was that alone a kind of betrayal? I felt utterly unprepared to face this war within him. All my life, I'd yearned for this connection, and now that I had a glimpse of it, I desperately hoped to help him. But even as his shoulders slumped with unspoken defeat, I was wrestling with my own – frustration, and a helpless kind of fury. He held on to his sadness with bone-deep weariness and despite how it broke my heart, there was nothing I could do to help him release it.

SUNDAY MORNINGS USUALLY FOUND ME CUDDLED close to Daddy, but this one was different. Instead of our cozy bed, all four of us were sprawled around Joe and Mike's cavernous living room, scattered notes and brainstorming sketches from our first Liltech meeting littering the coffee table.

"So,” I started, glancing up from a doodle of a cartoon dinosaur with a pacifier, “Anyone got any brilliant ideas for those safety ads yet?"

Mike shot up, eyes gleeful. "Absolutely! Imagine this: Little-themed smartwatch with a 'Call Daddy' panic button in case they get lost. Boom! Daddy to the rescue! And hey..." he leaned forward, mischievous twinkle in his eye, "could throw in some location tracking too just for added Daddy domination."

"Domination?" Joe snorted. "It's called peace of mind. Besides, wouldn't you precious Littles find some way to abusethat function and have us Daddies drop everything when they misplaced their favorite blankie?"

Their dynamic was so different from Hank's and mine, built on sharp wits and sharper tongues. Even in disagreement, there was an underlying affection that brought a smile to my face.

"So, guess what?" Joe announced, a hint of his usual exuberance softened with a newfound warmth. "Apparently, my sis has been working behind the scenes. Turning my parents from homophobes to...well, maybe still a work-in-progress, but at least we're moving toward not-total-disasters."

Hank raised an intrigued eyebrow. "That big of a change, huh? That surprises me. I had the impression she wasn't keen on you being, well, you."

"Let's just say Emma has the ability to be persuasive when she feels strongly about something," Joe said, a hint of pride warming his voice. He nudged Mike, "Though a big factor might also be how adorably, incorrigibly awesome my sweet boy is."

Cue Mike rolling his eyes and giggling into a mock-humble diatribe, "Ah, yes, I have that effect on people. It's a real burden, my overwhelming charm. Must be all those puppy-dog eyes and mischievous grins!"

Their routine was interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. Joe groaned dramatically, exchanging an apprehensive glance with Mike. We weren't expecting visitors.

The door opened and there they were, Joe’s parents along with Emma. My jaw nearly dropped. His parents hadn't stepped foot in Joe's home since it became public knowledge that he was in a relationship with Mike.

Awkward silence fell for a moment before Emma spoke, her voice surprisingly resolute. "I told Mom and Dad how great Mike takes care of you, Joe. It wasn't an option to not see for themselves."

My eyes darted between the group. For the first time, I noticed the flicker of uncertainty behind Joe's stern mask. A flicker quickly extinguished as Mike strolled forward, beaming at Joe's parents with his signature charm. It seemed he wasn't about to let their apprehension ruin his morning.

Joe’s mother was the first to react. “I…” she began, hesitation hanging heavy in the air, then took a deep breath. “Joe, there have been difficult things said during these past months," she paused, the tension thick in the room, "I shouldn't have been so hasty in shutting you out…”

Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes. It was Joe’s father who next spoke, a mixture of confusion and a newfound softness in his voice. “I was an ass, son. Ignored you for months, couldn't fathom you were the little boy I'd raised. It’s not an excuse, just fear, I realize that now. There are things I still don't… that we don't quite understand. But seeing the love you both share, I'm willing to try. Maybe even learn..."