Chapter 241 Fathers Rarely Win. He Tried.

Chapter 241 Fathers Rarely Win. He Tried.
POV: Silver Preston
Two days after Leona's ultimatum, my father calls.
Not my mother. My father. James Preston, who usually stays out of conflicts, who lets Leona run the show, who has been a quiet presence in the background of my entire skating career.
"Your mother told me what happened," he says without preamble. "The ultimatum. The threat to disown you."
"Yeah." I sit on my bed, phone pressed to my ear. "She meant it too."
"I know. I've been listening to her rant about it for two days straight." He sighs. "Silver, I need to tell you something. And I need you to really hear it."
"Okay."
"Your mother loves you. In her own complicated, controlling way, she loves you. But she's wrong about this. Dead wrong." His voice is firm. Strong. "You don't owe her your happiness. You don't owe her your career. You don't owe her anything except basic respect, and even that has limits."
"Dad--"
"Let me finish. I've spent twenty years watching her mold you into what she wanted instead of who you are. And I let it happen because I'm a coward who doesn't like conflict. But I'm done being quiet." He takes a breath. "I'm proud of you. For choosing yourself. For standing up to her. For skating because you wanted to, not because she demanded it. And I'm sorry I didn't say that sooner."
"You don't have to apologize--"
"Yes, I do. I should have protected you from her intensity years ago. Should have been the buffer between her ambitions and your childhood. But I didn't. And I'm sorry." His voice cracks slightly. "But I'm here now. And I'm telling you: choose happiness, Silver. Choose that boy if he makes you happy. Choose skating for joy instead of medals. Choose whatever life makes you feel alive. And if your mother can't accept that, I'll stand between you and her."
I am crying now. Full tears.
"She won't listen to you."
"Probably not. But I'm going to try anyway." His voice steadies. "I'm driving up there. Should be there tonight. I'm going to sit your mother down and explain some things. About boundaries. About letting go. About how being a parent means supporting your child's choices, not controlling them."
"She'll just get angrier."
"Let her. I'm tired of managing her anger at the expense of your wellbeing." He pauses. "Pack a bag. If this conversation goes badly, you're coming home with me for a few days. Give her time to cool off."
"I have classes--"
"Classes can wait. Your mental health can't." His tone leaves no room for argument. "I'll text when I'm close. Love you, kiddo."
"Love you too, Dad."
The line goes dead.
I sit there, phone in hand, feeling something shift. My father has never stood up to Leona. Never pushed back. Never chosen sides.
Until now.
That evening, I get a text from him.
Dad: At a hotel near campus. Your mother agreed to meet for dinner. Wish me luck.
Silver: Good luck. Thank you for trying.
Dad: She's your mother and I love her. But she's wrong about this. And someone needs to tell her.
Two hours later: Dinner did not go well. She walked out. But I said what needed to be said. She'll come around eventually. Or she won't. Either way, you're not alone.
Silver: What did you say to her?
Dad: That she's confusing love with control. That you're not a project or a legacy. That she needs to deal with her own unfulfilled dreams instead of living through you. She didn't take it well.
Silver: I'm sorry I'm causing problems between you two.
Dad: You're not causing anything. This has been brewing for years. You just finally gave me the courage to address it.
Dad: Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow.
I show the texts to Americus, who is doing homework at her desk, her braids pinned back.
"Your dad is a badass," she says. "Quiet types always surprise you."
"He stood up to her. Actually stood up to her."
"About time someone did." She spins her chair around. "So what now? What's your next move?"
I think about it. About my mother's ultimatum. About my father's support. About the feeling of being on ice again.
"I want to skate," I say slowly. "Not just practice sessions. Something real. An exhibition. Nothing competitive. Just a performance. On my terms."
"Like a showcase?"
"Yeah. Small. Intimate. Just proving I can do it." I pull out my phone. Start researching. "There's a community ice show in three weeks. Local skaters. No judges. Just performance for fun."
"You think your knee can handle a full program?"
"Not a full competitive program. But something simple. Three minutes maybe. Basic jumps. Focus on artistry instead of technical difficulty." I feel excitement building. "I could do it. I know I could."
"Then do it." Americus grins. "Sign up. Choreograph something. Show everyone you're not finished."
"I'd need music. Choreography. Practice time." My mind is already planning. "And I'd want Eli there. To watch. Support."
"He'd be there even if you didn't invite him. That boy would sit through a thousand exhibitions just to watch you skate."
I pull up the registration form for the ice show. Stare at it.
This is it. My choice. My terms. My skating.
Not Leona's.
I hit submit.