My grandmother tries to knock on the door a couple hours later to bring me dinner, but I pretend to be asleep. She sighs as she sets the plate of whatever she made for dinner on the dresser before leaving me alone again. Instantly I get a whiff of something that smells like potatoes and meat, and mouth begins to water as my stomach growls. I don't want to be hungry, but I am. So I slide out of bed, careful not to make a sound and give myself away. Then I walk over to where she left the food.

It's a ramekin filled what looks like potatoes. I pick up the fork and pierce the potatoes, pushing some to the side so I can see what's waiting underneath. Meat and vegetables. I don't know what it is, but it smells amazing, and I am starving. So I carry the ramekin back over to my bed and dig in, savoring every bite of whatever it is she's made. In a few minutes it's gone, and I'm already wishing there was more. Knowing there probably is, I just have to go back out there to get it. And that's not happening. Not tonight. So I curl up under my covers, holding my duck against my chest, as I close my eyes and try to fall asleep.

It takes several hours and lots of tossing and turning before I can finally drift off to sleep. But I have so many dreams that it feels like I've barely slept at all. I'm so wound up and tense that I wake up sore and tired, exhausted from all the emotions I've been feeling since I got here. One look out the window tells me it's daytime, and one glance at my phone tells me it's time to get up. I cringe, knowing that they're probably going to be out there. That I'm going to have to face them. But today is my last full day with them. Tomorrow afternoon I make my way back to London. And I can't hide in here for the rest of my trip. So, begrudgingly, I slip out of bed, get changed into daytime clothes, and make my way out of the bedroom.

I'm half expecting to find them the way I found them yesterday, with my grandmother cooking in the kitchen and my grandfather lost in his garden. But when I enter the kitchen, I freeze, surprised to see them both sitting at the kitchen table holding hands and looking absolutely miserable. They tense up at the same time when they see me, and I give them an awkward wave, wondering if I should sit next to them.

"Morning," I mutter as I lean against the wall.

"Good morning," my grandmother says, but the joy that was in her voice yesterday has vanished like smoke in the wind. "How'd you sleep?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Honestly? Not great."

She nods her head as she looks at my grandfather. "Yeah. We didn't either." She sucks in a breath, closes her eyes, and says, "Listen, Summer... about yesterday-"

I shake my head, interrupting her. "It's fine. We don't have to do this."

"I'm sorry," she says, as if I hadn't just told her I didn't want to talk about it. "You were right. You didn't come all this way to talk about your father. And I'm so sorry that you felt like we were forcing him on you. It's not that. It's just...." She trails off, then turns to look at my grandfather for help.

My grandfather slowly gets to his feet and walks toward me, leaving his walking stick leaning against the table. He doesn't say anything. There's nothing he can say, and we all know it. He just walks up to me, opens his arms, and wraps me up in a hug. I just stand there, unable to move. Unable to breath. And it all hits me at once. The words my grandmother said up in the attic the day before. The picture of my mom in the bedroom. The stupid birthday video. And I lose all my composure. I burst in to uncontrollable tears, snot sliding out of my nose and onto his shirt, staining the light blue.

"We know how you feel," he whispers soothingly as his arms grow tighter around my body. "We understand, sweetheart. The anger. The hurt. No one understands more than us."

"He didn't love me," I cry, not even embarrassed that I've completely lost it in front of these people I barely know. "He couldn't have. If he did, he would've chosen me. He would've been there for me."

My grandmother is standing beside me now, and her hand is sliding down my hair in a comforting gesture. "He did love you," she says softly, her own voice shaky with tears. "He did, Summer. But something you don't know about drugs is they consume you. They change everything about you. He got started at a young age, and they ruined him. We watched it happen. Watched as he tried so hard to get sober. He'd go weeks at a time before he'd succumb to it again."

"We tried every rehab we could think to try," my grandfather says. "Everything we could do. We spent tens of thousands of dollars on facilities and treatment programs. Spent every waking moment taking care of him, trying to help him recover."

"I get it," I croak as a hiccup escapes my lips. "He was lost to the drugs. I understand. But what was your excuse? Why did you never see me? Why did you never try?"

The pause is so heavy, so unbelievably awkward, that I consider running out of the house and heading straight back to the train station. Back the Carmichaels where I know everyone there and they know me. But before I get the chance, my grandfather pulls away, bows his head, and says, "We have no excuse, Summer. All I can say is that we spent all of our time and energy helping him. Every penny we made extra went to his recovery."

I shake my head. No, this isn't right. "But you spoke to my mother," I say, wiping my tears with the palm of my hand. "Why did you call her but not me? Didn't you care at all?"

"Of course we did, love," my grandmother replies, her wrinkled hand brushing my tears away. "But we didn't call your mother. She always called us. To check in, you see. On your father. See if he was doing better. I think she always loved him to some extent, even if she wasn't in love with him anymore. He was your father, and she wanted him to get better for you. For us. But he just... he didn't."

I sniffle loudly. "How did he die? What happened? If he was always in treatment programs, then how did he overdose?"

My grandmother takes a shaky breath as my grandfather slides an arm around her shoulder. "We don't exactly know. He was in another care facility. Or at least, we thought he was. And then one day, we heard a knock on the door, and a policeman told us, very gently, that our son had died. We learned later that he was found at an abandoned house in London with a needle in his arm." A tear falls down her cheek as she sobs. "He died scared and alone, Summer. And it... it almost broke us."

More tears slide down my face as her words seep into my soul like black tea in boiling water. Scared and alone. And I think back to that night last year at Ollie's party. The way my heart slammed against my chest as his fingers slid down my pants, taking me in a way he wasn't allowed. The fear I felt as I searched for someone to help me, knowing I was alone with this drunk monster who was going to steal the last shred of innocence I had within me. I know what it's like to feel scared and alone. And my father died that way.

"I'm so sorry," I cry, my sobs feeling like a wild animal is trying to claw its way out of my chest. "I've just been so angry with him. So hurt."

They both wrap themselves around me, and it feels so good. So right. "We understand, love," my papa says, his voice slightly muffled in my granny's hair. "We do. We spent years trying to help him. Take care of him. Get him better so he could be there for you in some way. And for him to throw it all away like that... I'll never understand it. But I never walked in his shoes. I didn't know the demons he was fighting. The pain he was feeling."

"We've been going to therapy since it happened," my granny says, her voice thick from crying. "Grief counseling, actually. Because we needed to understand it. We needed to wrap our heads around why."

"Has it helped?" I mumble.

"A bit," she replies. Then she pulls away and takes my face in her hands. "But not as much as you have."

"Me?" I ask, surprised. "How have I helped?"

My grandfather chuckles. "You're here, love. You came to see us. We didn't think you ever would. We thought you hated us, and you had every right to. We failed him. We failed you. But we love you, and you being here... we see so much of him in you. Not the demons. Well, maybe some. But different. You're a girl who's been hurt, and that's understandable. But his spirit lives in you. I see his soul in your eyes."

I remember telling Baker at the skating rink last year about how worried I was that my grandparents would see something of my father in me. How scared that made me feel. But now, standing here in their kitchen, hearing my papa say these words, I don't feel scared. I'm... happy. Relieved. It turns out I wasn't afraid that they would see him in me. I was afraid they wouldn't see him at all. That this man I never knew at all but always wondered about, who existed only in the shadows of my life, was real. That he did, in fact, exist. And that, in some way, he still does. In me.

I pull away, wiping my eyes again, and giggle as I ask, "What was that potato thing you left on the dresser for me last night?"

My granny smiles. "Shepherd's pie," she answers. "Did you like it?"

"Is there any left?" I ask hungrily, and she laughs.

"No," she replies. "But if you want to run to town with me, I can pick up the ingredients to make it again. You wouldn't mind having it a second night in a row, would you, dear?" she asks my papa.

He gives her a teary smile as he shakes his head. "Absolutely not. Ginny, you know I'd eat your shepherd's pie every night if I could."

My granny strokes my face with her fingers. "Well, that settles it then. Want to join me?" There's no hesitation. I nod my head quickly, and she beams. The two of us leave the house together and head to the local market, where she picks up all the ingredients to make her shepherd's pie. Peas, carrots, onions, celery, garlic, and some ground lamb. She also grabs some things to make for breakfast and lunch as well. When we get home, my papa is out in his garden. My granny offers to let me go out and help him, and I do so without hesitation.

Today feels so different than yesterday. Less heavy. Something in me has shifted. It feels like I've lost twenty pounds of extra weight. My papa lets me help him in the garden today, tending to the rosebushes and all the other beautiful flowers he has growing around the yard. It's a bright, sunny day in Surrey, and at one point my granny comes out with some sandwiches, cookies, and lemonade. The three of us sit in the grass together, enjoying the sunshine and our last full day together.

When we're done with lunch, I join my granny in the house to help her prepare for the shepherd's pie. She shows me how to peel the carrots and potatoes, and how to cut them just right so that they'll mesh well with the meat. And she's such a gentle, patient teacher. We cook the entire meal together, and I take mental notes so I can make it for my family when I get home. And she doesn't laugh at me when I make a mistake or get angry. She just shows me how to do it right. And at the end of the day, we all sit around the kitchen table and enjoy the meal that I wished I had enjoyed with them last night.

But tonight it tastes even better somehow. Maybe it's because I'm happier. Maybe it's because I'm not thinking of how I can run away anymore. I don't know. But I'm genuinely enjoying their company, feeling a little bit sad that I have to go home tomorrow. Wishing I had just a little more time.

"I leave tomorrow," I mutter between bites and conversation, and they each give me sad smiles. "And I was thinking... I should probably see him. You know... before I leave."

My granny's eyes well up with tears as she nods her head. "Of course, love. We can go together, if you want?" I nod my head, and she smiles. "Okay. Pete, do you want to come?"

"Yes," he replies quickly, like if he doesn't say it fast enough then the invitation will be rescinded. "Absolutely. We'll go together. All three of us." And I nod my head and smile, feeling relieved to know that I won't have to face him by myself. Thankful that they'll be there to hold me if I fall apart again. And there's comfort in that. In knowing I'm not alone in this pain. That they feel it and understand it too. That they'll be with me every step of the way. They way they always should've been. The way they will be from now on.

Author's Note:
Turns out I had one more in me tonight. Who'd of thought? Not me! I hope you all love this one! As always let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'll be back again with a new chapter. Stay safe and healthy until then, dearies!
XOXO,
~Aly