Page 13 of Not Until I Found You

Maxinne

“How far out are you now?”

I roll my eyes, not fighting the smile that tugs on my lips. “An hour closer than I was when you last called me.”

Never in a million years would I have thought that I’d be driving toward the small town in Kentucky where my dad lives. And yet, here I am, just outside of Covewood with a half-empty gas tank and a heart that’s equally drained. If the last four days have taught me anything, it’s that life rarely unfolds like we expect it to.

Ashton’s chuckle fills the inside of my car, a sound that instantly softens me. “You can’t blame me for being excited to see my one and only baby sister.”

I’m excited to see him too. Ashton and I have always shared a unique sibling bond. Most brothers and sisters drift apart over time or settle into the rhythm of distant birthday calls and quick check-in texts. Not us.

Despite the seven-year age gap, we’ve stayed close. He’s always been steady, loyally supportive, and the first to cheer me on—well, with the exception of getting engaged to Derek. He never could get behind that decision, and maybe, deep down, there was a part of me that always knew he was right.

“I’ll be pulling into your driveway in about…” I glance at the GPS screen, the numbers glowing beside the map. “Twenty minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

I grin as I hang up, but it fades as quickly as it came. Twenty minutes. That’s all the time I have left before I step into the unknown, away from the life I built around someone else and toward whatever comes next.

I’m not sure how this summer will go. Or how to be a daughter to a man I barely know. It’s been years since I’ve really spoken to Dad. When I was younger, his job in the military took him all over the world. He was gone more than he was home, but when he was with us, it felt like magic.

He used to sit cross-legged on the living room floor for hours, playing Barbies with me, and he even let me paint his toenails. He built me a tiny greenhouse in the backyard and taught me how to take care of plants. Back then, he seemed larger than life, kind spirited, and gentle. I don’t have a single bad memory with him, now that I think about it. All except for one.

I was seven when we visited Dad in the hospital after he had an accident overseas. It was caused by a blast from a roadside IED during a security operation that went wrong. He was lucky to have survived.

Mom held my hand tightly as she led Ashton and me through the maze of hallways. Dad had looked smaller somehow and had a bandage that was wrapped around his head. Next to him, machines beeped steadily, and I stared at them instead of looking at him, because I didn’t know what to do with the fear I was experiencing.

When he finally opened his eyes, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. But even back then, I knew something was different about him. After that, the house grew quieter, and I learned to tiptoe around, muffling my giggles with both hands, afraid that I would make the world too loud for him. For a free-spirited seven-year-old, that kind of shrinking left a mark.

One night, Mom dropped a serving spoon while making dinner, and the sharp clang against the tile made Dad jump so hard his chair nearly tipped over. Nobody spoke for the rest of the meal, and I stared down at my meatloaf, wondering what we’d done wrong.

I remember the day it all changed for our family. One second, I was chasing Ashton through the greenhouse, furious that he accidently knocked over one of my favorite potted plants. The next, I was tearing through the house after him, yelling at the top of my lungs, and I didn’t stop to remember the rules. Because of that, Dad snapped, and it wasn’t a normal parental scolding.

It was sudden and sharp. His face transformed into a stranger’s, his voice booming, and it scared me in a way I hadn’t ever experienced before. Everything was different afterward.

A heaviness settled over our family, one that never lifted. A few months later, my father packed his bags and moved to Covewood. He said he needed the quiet and that it was only temporary, at least until he was able to heal and adjust. He promised that once things got better, he’d come back.

But he never did.

A year later, the divorce was finalized between my parents. Mom never said much about it. She took a deep breath, picked up the pieces, and started carrying all of the weight herself. Mom worked long hours and stretched every dollar, including the small child support check Dad paid each month. We never talked about the moment things fell apart.

Even though the memory never left me. Despite everything, a small part of me wonders what it would be like to have my dad back in my life. I never imagined I’d actually get the chance to find out.

The wind blows through the crack in my window as my car winds through a forest of evergreen trees. They wrap around three cabins, and beyond them sits a barely visible lake. The cabin looks exactly like Ashton described it. The view itself is like a patch of stillness carved out of the chaos I’ve left behind.

Ashton is standing near the porch as I pull into the driveway, one hand shading his eyes, the other holding a coffee mug. He looks like he belongs on one of those Pinterest boards called Rugged Mountain Men, which is honestly fitting, considering the life he’s built here in Covewood.

I barely put the car into park before I throw open the door and launch myself across the yard.

“Ash!”

His smile widens as he places his mug on the porch railing and opens his arms wide for me. I slam into his chest with a force that almost knocks the wind out of us both. He catches me easily, wrapping his bear-like arms around my shoulders. We stand there, swaying a little, as if the past few months apart hadn’t stretched so far between us.

He gives the top of my head a kiss, and I sigh. All the emotions I’ve fought so hard to keep hidden come bubbling up the moment he hugs me. He pushes away first, moving his hands to my shoulders to get a better look at me.

His brows furrow once he notices the tears shining in my eyes. “Everything is going to be alright. You’re here now, and I’m going to take care of you.”

“What are you talking about?” I sniffle and wipe my nose. “I came here to take care of you.”