Chapter 79 Hot chocolate

Chapter 79 Hot chocolate
Her dad held her for a long time, rocking her gently on the bedroom floor while her sobs slowly softened into shaky breaths. His hand moved up and down her back in slow, steady motions, grounding her, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

When her breathing finally steadied, he whispered, “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you downstairs.”

Amelia nodded weakly, wiping her face with trembling hands. Her dad helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her as they walked down the hallway and into the lounge. The room felt warmer than her bedroom — softer somehow — with the dim lamp casting a gentle glow across the couch.

“Sit,” he said softly.

She sank into the cushions, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her dad disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and she heard the familiar sounds of the kettle boiling, the clink of a mug, the soft rustle of a cocoa packet being opened.

When he returned, he handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate, topped with a few melting marshmallows.
“Here,” he murmured. “Drink slowly. It’ll help.”

Amelia wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms. She took a small sip, the sweetness settling in her chest like a soft blanket.
Her dad sat beside her, not too close, but close enough that she could lean on him if she needed to. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain beginning outside.

Finally, he exhaled. “Amelia… what happened? What made you lose it like that?”

She stared into her mug, watching the marshmallows dissolve. Her throat tightened again, but she forced herself to breathe through it.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s been building all week.”

Her dad waited patiently, his expression open and gentle.

Amelia swallowed hard. “Lola’s been getting louder. Every day. Every hour. She just… she wouldn’t stop.”

Her dad’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I tried ignoring her like the therapist said,” Amelia continued, voice trembling. “And sometimes it worked. But other times it just made her angrier. She kept saying things. Mean things. About me. About you. About Ryan.”

Her dad’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his voice soft. “What kind of things?”

“That I’m weak,” Amelia whispered. “That I can’t do anything without her. That you don’t understand me. That Ryan will get tired of me. That I’m nothing.”

Her dad’s eyes softened with heartbreak. “Sweetheart…”

“And today,” Amelia said, tears welling again, “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. I was trying to do some of my homework and she kept yelling and yelling and I just—”

Her voice cracked.

“I snapped.”

Her dad reached out, gently brushing a tear from her cheek. “You didn’t snap. You reached your limit. And that’s okay. You’ve been carrying so much.”

Amelia shook her head. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have—”

“Amelia,” he said firmly but gently, “you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. You’re allowed to break down. You’re human.”

She looked down at her hands, gripping the mug so tightly her knuckles were white.
“I just want to get better,” she whispered. “I want to be normal. I want to live my life without… without her.”

Her dad shifted closer, placing a steady hand on her back. “And you will. You’re already doing the hard work. Therapy, talking to me, letting people in… that’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

Amelia’s breath hitched. “It doesn’t feel like strength.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But it is.”

She leaned into him then, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close in that quiet, protective way only a parent could.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Amelia closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his words settle into the cracks inside her. The storm in her chest wasn’t gone — not completely — but it had eased, just enough for her to breathe again.

They stayed like that for a while, the rain outside growing heavier, tapping against the windows in a steady rhythm. The house felt cocooned in the sound — soft, muted, safe.

After a moment, her dad pulled back just enough to look at her. “Has she ever been this loud before?”

Amelia hesitated. “Not like this. She’s been angry before, but this week… it felt like she was fighting me. Like she knew I was trying to change.”

Her dad nodded slowly. “Sometimes when you start getting better, the things that hurt you fight the hardest to stay.”

Amelia blinked, absorbing that.

“It’s like pulling out a weed,” he continued. “The roots cling. They don’t want to let go. But that doesn’t mean you stop pulling.”

A small, fragile breath escaped her — not quite a laugh, but close.

Her dad smiled softly. “We’ll talk to your therapist about this. We’ll figure out what’s going on. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Amelia nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Do you want to sleep in the lounge tonight? Or I can stay in your room until you fall asleep.”

Amelia hesitated, then whispered, “Can you stay with me? Just for a little while?”

“Of course,” he said immediately.

He stood and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him guide her gently off the couch. Her legs felt shaky, but his steady presence beside her made each step easier.

As they walked toward her room, Amelia glanced back at the lounge — the soft lamp glow, the half‑finished hot chocolate, the blanket draped over the couch.

For the first time in days, her mind wasn’t fighting her.
And even though she knew the silence might not last, she let herself breathe in the moment — the warmth, the safety, the quiet.
It was enough.
For now, it was enough.