The library is my sanctuary when I need to not think, which is ironic since it’s designed for thinking. I’m on my third attempt at the same paragraph about cellular biology when my phone buzzes loud enough that the girl two tables over shoots me a death glare.

My father’s name flashes across the screen. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, but another part makes me grab my stuff and head outside.

The October air hits like a slap when I push through the doors. I answer halfway down the steps, my breath fogging. “Hello?”

“Madison.” His voice is warm, almost gentle. Different from the controlled anger when he cut me off. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you busy right now?”

I sit on a bench, watching students hurry past, trying to ignore the nostalgic pull in his chest at his easy tone. “Kind of, I guess. I was just studying.”

“I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to check in about Regionals. It’s coming up soon, isn’t it? A few weeks?” The shift catches me off guard. Not emotional territory, just logistics. Practical dad mode.

“Yeah, a couple weeks. We’ve been drilling the pairs routine pretty hard. Coach thinks we’re ready.” I’m answering automatically, giving him updates I used to give before everything fell apart.

“That’s good. Really good.” He sounds genuinely interested, and it’s jarring. “I’ve been thinking—do you need help with travel arrangements? Hotel? I know you’re managing everything yourself now, but Regionals can get expensive with last-minute bookings.”

The offer lands weird, somewhere between generous and controlling. “I’ve got it covered. The team has a block of rooms reserved, and we’re carpooling.”

“Of course, of course. I just wanted to make sure you had everything handled.” His voice gets tight. “Your mother’s been worried, you know. Asking if you’re eating properly, if you need anything.”

There it is. The mother card. Classic move. “Tell her I’m fine. Meal plan’s working out great.”

“She’d love to hear that from you directly. She misses you, Madison. We both do.” His voice goes softer, more careful. “I know things are complicated right now, but that hasn’t changed.”

My eyes are burning and I blink hard against the cold wind, pretending that’s the only reason. “I know.”

“How’s the ankle holding up? Any pain during practice?” The pivot back to practical matters feels like a relief and a trap simultaneously.

“No pain. Physical therapy worked, and I’ve been careful.” Professional answer. Safe answer. The kind that doesn’t invite follow-up questions about how I’m actually feeling.

“Good. That’s really good. I saw some footage online from your last competition. You looked strong out there, Madison. Really strong.” The praise catches me off guard.

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