Chapter 71 The wounds he carried

Chapter 71 The wounds he carried
Milie's POV

I loved Alan. For the first time in all these months, there wasn't a single part of me trying to deny it.

I'd confessed it. To him. To myself.

Yet instead of feeling lighter, I felt heavier.

Because now Daxton lingered more than before. The thought alone settled guilt deep inside my chest.

How was I supposed to tell him?

How do you tell someone who has loved you quietly for years that your heart belongs to someone else?

I didn't know.

I wasn't even sure I was brave enough.

Back then, Alan had almost kissed me.

His hands had framed my face. Our breaths had mingled. Our foreheads had rested together.

For one suspended heartbeat, I wanted nothing more.

But he'd stopped. Not because he didn't want me. Because he respected someone who wasn't even there.

That single moment made me fall for him all over again, deeper.

A few minutes later, he returned carrying two mugs. Steam curled lazily into the room.

"Chamomile." He handed me a mug before we both settled near the large window overlooking the backyard.

The night had grown quiet. I curled up beside him, a warm mug between my hands.

He wrapped an arm around me, and without realizing, I rested my head against his shoulder.

Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence wasn't awkward.

It felt comfortable. Like we'd finally stopped running.

I took a sip of tea before looking at him. "So..."

He glanced sideways.

"I know almost everything about Alan Parker."

"The annoying version."

"The flirty version."

"The dramatic version."

"The idiot version."

He laughed.

"But..." I intertwined my fingers with his.

"I don't know the little boy sitting beside me."

His smile faded slowly. I immediately regretted asking. "You don't have to tell me."

He remained quiet. Then instead of answering, he looked outside.

"Do you see those trees?"

I followed his gaze. The backyard stretched far beyond the fence.

Several huge oak trees stood proudly at the edge. "They're beautiful."

He smiled faintly. "I planted that one."

He pointed toward the tallest tree. "I was six."

"Dad dug the hole, and I insisted on putting the sapling in myself."

A softness entered his eyes. "We used to come here every weekend."

"Dad and I would spend hours outside."

"We built tree houses that collapsed in two days."

"We played baseball."

"He taught me how to ride a bike right over there."

He pointed toward the gravel path. "I still remember crashing into Grandma's roses."

A laugh escaped me.

"I was scolded."

"You?"

"I know." He grinned.

"Hard to believe."

The grin slowly disappeared. "We used to barbecue every Sunday."

"Mom and Grandma cooked. Dad pretended he was some five-star chef."

"He burnt everything, but he always smiled like he'd created art."

His voice softened.

"I thought weekends would always look like this." He swallowed.

"But then..."

Everything inside me stilled.

"One night... Grandma called." He stared ahead.

"Grandpa hadn't come home. He'd disappeared again."

His jaw tightened. "He was drinking, gambling, doing everything except acting like a husband or a father."

I squeezed his hand. 

He continued. "Dad wasn't even surprised. He just grabbed his keys."

"He told Grandma I’ll bring him home."

Alan smiled bitterly. "He had always brought him home."

He stopped. For several seconds, silence, only the wind outside clattering the glass. Then… 

"The cops found Grandpa." 

"He'd been beaten badly near the highway."

Alan's fingers curled tighter around mine.

"Dad went there to get him, and while he was trying to lift him into the car…

His voice cracked. His eyes squeezed shut. "...a speeding truck didn't see them, and ran over my…"

His shoulders trembled. Words couldn't roll out of his mouth.

I felt my own tears forming.

"They said… He died instantly."

The words came out barely above a whisper. "As if it would have made us feel better." 

He laughed. It wasn't laughter. It was a heartbreak disguised as one.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye." He looked away, exhaling, wiping his eyes. 

I couldn't stop my tears anymore.

Without thinking, I wrapped both my arms around him.

He leaned into me. Just enough. "My whole world disappeared that night, Mils."

"Mom stopped smiling."

"Grandma blamed herself."

"And Grandpa…" His expression hardened. "He survived."

I understood immediately. That was the part he could never forgive.

"I hated him."

"I hated looking at him."

"I hated hearing his name."

"He took my father away."

"He took his own son away."

His breathing grew uneven. "Everyone told me he'd changed."

"They told me he quit drinking."

"They told me he'd become a different man."

"I didn't care because it didn't bring my Dad back."

"I never returned here... for years."

"Grandma kept calling."

"Come visit once before it's too late."

"I never felt like coming." 

I rested my forehead against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

He smiled weakly. "I thought I was punishing him."

"But… I was punishing Grandma too."

"And maybe… myself too."

I lifted his face gently. "Alan… You've carried this alone for years."

He shrugged. "I had Mom. I had Nana."

"They made sure I grew up loved. They never let me become bitter."

I smiled softly. "They did a good job."

He laughed quietly. "I guess."

"But..." I touched the center of his chest.

"You don't have to keep carrying this anymore."

He looked at me, confused.

"Your dad… he's here." I pressed my palm lightly against his heart.

"He made you into this man."

"The one who protects people. The one who loves loudly. The one who makes everyone laugh."

I smiled through my tears. "I think he'd be proud."

Alan looked away quickly. His eyes shimmered.

"He always smiled. No matter how bad things got."

I bumped my forehead gently against his. "Just like you."

He shook his head. "I don’t know."

After a long silence, I asked quietly,

"Alan, then why now? What made you finally come?"

He looked out toward the backyard again. "You."

I blinked. "What?"

"When you asked me to leave..."

"It felt like losing someone all over again."

"I knew you loved me, yet you weren't choosing me." 

His voice became quieter.

"And suddenly… I heard Grandma's words— 'Come before God calls me first'."

He smiled sadly.

"For the first time...I understood what she'd been feeling."

"Loving someone, waiting, and wondering if they'd ever come back."

"I couldn't do that to her anymore."

"So… I just came."

I stared at him, unable to speak.

If I hadn't broken his heart… He may never have come here.

He may never have made peace with this part of himself.

Life was strange, cruel, and somehow beautiful.

I leaned forward and hugged him again.

"I'm sorry."

He kissed the top of my head. "No."

He smiled softly. "You came, and somehow that made everything worth it."

My heart ached. For the first time in years, Alan wasn't just revisiting his past.

He was finally beginning to forgive his grandpa.

And no one could have been happier than me.

Because I knew what it felt like to have grandparents and still grow up without their love.