Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 19

A sharp knock broke the silence in Sydney's room. She turned toward the door, startled, and before she could even answer, Lia stepped in, carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming tea. Her movements were confident, and purposeful, as if she already knew her presence was needed.

"Hey," Lia greeted, closing the door with her foot. "Figured you could use some tea—and someone to share it with."

Sydney blinked, caught off guard. "You're just inviting yourself in now?"

Lia smirked, setting the tray on Sydney's desk. "Well, you didn't answer fast enough, so I took it as a yes." She settled on the edge of Sydney's bed, her eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. "You've been quiet, Syd. And don't tell me it's nothing. I can feel it from a mile away."

Sydney hesitated, wrapping her arms around her knees. She hated how easily Lia could read her. "It's not something I want to talk about," she muttered.

"Too bad," Lia replied, her tone light but firm. "Because I'm not leaving until you do."

Sydney shot her a look, half annoyed, half amused. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"Always," Lia said with a grin, handing her one of the mugs. She sipped her tea, her expression softening. "Look, I'm not here to push you into anything. But I know you, Syd. Something's eating at you, and it's more than just... regular life stuff. Is it about your mom?"

Sydney stiffened, her grip tightening around the mug. She didn't answer right away, but Lia's sharp gaze stayed fixed on her, unwavering.

"It's not... about her," Sydney said at last, her voice barely audible. "Not really."

Lia raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more beneath the surface. "Then what is it?"

Sydney closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her. "I don't know," she muttered, her words barely making sense even to herself. "It's like... there's this thing, this... tangled knot. One part of me says I'm fine, I should just leave it, and move on. But there's another part, the one that keeps asking—what if it was never mine to let go? What if—what if I've already walked too far?"

Lia's eyes softened, her voice calm but pressing. "Walked too far where?"

Sydney swallowed, her gaze unfocused as if searching for answers she wasn't sure existed. "Every time I think I've made peace, something—some part of me—feels like I'm betraying something important. Or... someone. And I don't even know why it hurts like this. It just does."

Lia watched her silently, letting the weight of Sydney's words settle. She didn't interrupt, sensing that this wasn't something Sydney could easily untangle.

"I don't even know what I feel right now," Sydney whispered, her voice thick with confusion. "I should feel like I've done the right thing like I've made a choice I can live with. But... it's like there's always a shadow. Something I didn't—something I couldn't foresee."

Lia's hand gently landed on Sydney's shoulder, grounding her. "What is it you're afraid of, Syd? What's this thing that keeps you on the edge of something you're not ready to face?"

Sydney looked at her, her eyes searching. "I don't want to... I don't want to feel like I've ruined everything. Or that I'm... too far gone to fix it."

Lia squeezed her shoulder gently, her voice a soft anchor in the whirlwind of Sydney's thoughts. "I don't think it's about fixing anything. Maybe it's about understanding it—what it means, why it matters. You're allowed to feel whatever this is. But don't let it keep you locked in place."

Sydney let out a shaky breath, her mind swirling. There was too much to untangle, too many feelings that didn't quite fit. But for the first time, she wondered if letting someone else in—if letting herself feel what she was afraid of—might make the storm inside her a little less overwhelming.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things. Sydney's heart pounded in her chest, the knot in her stomach tightening. She wanted to say more, to make sense of it all, but every time she tried, the words slipped away, like water through her fingers.

Lia sat quietly beside her, her presence unwavering, as if waiting for Sydney to find the right moment to let the pieces fall into place. Sydney's fingers tightened around the mug, the warmth from the tea doing little to ease the cold tension that had settled inside her.

"Do you ever feel like..." Sydney's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, trying again. "Like you're carrying something that wasn't meant to be yours? Something someone else left behind, but now you're stuck with it, and you don't even know how to set it down?"

Lia tilted her head, listening intently, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah," she said after a moment, her voice gentle. "I think we all carry things we were never meant to. Sometimes, it's because we don't know how to let them go. Other times, it's because we don't want to. Even when they hurt."

Sydney's gaze dropped to her tea, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. "It's like... I can feel this weight in my chest. Like something isn't right, like I crossed a line I didn't mean to cross. But I can't take it back. I can't undo what's already happened."

Lia's voice was quiet but firm. "What do you think you've crossed? And why does it feel like it's on you to fix it?"

Sydney's lips pressed into a thin line, the words hovering in her throat, but they wouldn't come. The feeling of betrayal, of guilt, twisted inside her. She didn't know why it lingered, or why it felt like an unbearable burden. Her mind kept circling back to one question she couldn't quite answer: Was she wrong for wanting this?

Her thoughts were so tangled, each one too sharp to hold. Alan, her mother, the space between them—all of it felt like one impossible puzzle that she couldn't solve, not when she was still so deeply immersed in the emotions she didn't want to face.

"You don't have to have all the answers, Syd," Lia said softly, as though sensing the war in her mind. "Sometimes, it's about sitting with the uncertainty. The not-knowing. It doesn't make you weak, or wrong, or..." Lia paused, her voice more careful now, "...bad. It just makes you human."

Sydney's eyes welled with unshed tears. She blinked quickly, trying to hold them back, but the dam inside her was starting to crack. Her chest ached with everything she had yet to say, everything she had yet to admit.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she whispered, the words breaking free at last. "It feels like I've lost myself in the middle of all of this. And I don't even know if I want to find my way back."

Lia's hand tightened on her shoulder, her touch steady and unyielding. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. But you do need to let yourself feel, Syd. Don't keep burying it inside. If you don't let it out, it'll keep eating away at you."

Sydney's breath hitched, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself crumble. The tears fell freely, unbidden, but somehow, they felt necessary, like the storm inside her needed to be released before she could find any peace.

Lia stayed with her, not speaking, just offering the silent comfort of her presence. Sydney didn't know how long they sat there, but when she finally lifted her head, she felt—if only for a moment—lighter.

"Thank you," Sydney murmured, her voice raw.

Lia smiled softly, her eyes filled with understanding. "You don't have to thank me. I'm here. I always will be."

Sydney nodded, feeling something shift within her. Maybe it wasn't all figured out yet. Maybe the guilt and confusion wouldn't just disappear overnight. But for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel so alone in it.

And that, she thought, was enough for now.

The minutes passed slowly as if the very air in the room was holding its breath. Sydney could still feel the weight of the conversation lingering, but there was something about the quiet space that made her feel a little lighter. Lia had offered her the rare gift of being seen, without judgment, without expectation. It was almost like breathing for the first time in a long time.

The soft click of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head, quickly wiping her eyes, not wanting anyone to catch her vulnerability. But when she saw Alan standing in the doorway, the shock that flickered in his eyes made her pause.

He stood there, taking in the sight of Lia's departure, his eyebrows slightly raised, mouth quirking into the faintest, almost amused frown. There was no accusation in his expression, only surprise—as if he'd walked into the wrong scene altogether.

"Did I miss the memo about a... tea party?" Alan asked, his voice low but rich with a playful tone, his eyes never leaving Sydney's face. The corner of his mouth twitched up, a hint of humor behind the words. His gaze softened almost instantly, his usual sharpness replaced by something gentler. He stepped into the room, moving with an unhurried grace.

Sydney looked down at her hands, unsure of how to respond. Alan, sensing the tension, took a few steps closer, his presence both comforting and unassuming. His hand hovered near the edge of the bed, not quite touching her but offering the quiet support of someone who would never push too hard.

"Well," Alan said softly, his voice carrying that warmth he didn't often show, "it seems I've arrived at a delicate moment." He gave her a wry smile, his eyes glinting with a knowing amusement that suggested he wasn't as bothered by Lia's visit as he might have seemed. If anything, it was clear he was more concerned about how Sydney was holding herself in the aftermath.

Sydney finally met his gaze, her heart unexpectedly thumping faster. His kindness—so quiet, so steady—always had a way of disarming her. But there was a weight behind his eyes too.

"I didn't expect... her," Sydney muttered, rubbing her eyes again. She wasn't sure if she meant Lia or Alan, but at that moment, she wasn't sure what to say at all.

Alan nodded as if he understood without her needing to explain further.

Lia met his gaze without flinching, her posture poised, an eyebrow raised in mild amusement. "I didn't realize I needed an invitation to check on a friend," she replied coolly, before turning her attention to Sydney. She rose gracefully from her seat, offering Sydney a glance that was equal parts understanding and resolute. "I'll leave you to it," Lia added with a slight nod, before walking past Alan, her movements smooth and deliberate.

Alan took a deep breath before he sat down beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were careful not to intrude on the space she needed. His hand rested lightly on the bed, just within reach, but it was clear that he wasn't there to press her into anything she wasn't ready for.

The warmth of his presence surrounded her like a familiar blanket... after realizing what was happening again it began to feel like poison ivy.

Sydney was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug as she tried to make sense of the storm of emotions inside her. His presence was comforting, yes, but it only served to make her feel the weight of the guilt she hadn't been able to shake. How could she allow herself to lean on him like this?

She pulled back slightly, not physically, but emotionally. It wasn't intentional—just a reflex, a way to protect herself from the things she couldn't fully understand.

"I don't know if I can do this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "Everything feels so wrong."

Alan's expression shifted, ever so slightly, as he processed her words. For a brief moment, there was a flicker in his gaze—a fleeting hurt that passed quickly, too fast for her to fully catch. But it was there, undeniable, the sharp sting of rejection. Yet he didn't let it show. His posture remained relaxed, his voice steady, even if his words felt heavy with the weight of something unsaid.

"This... us..." Sydney trailed off, her voice tight. She felt a pang of shame. "It feels like a betrayal."

Alan's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darkening just a fraction. But the silence that followed was filled with a kind of stillness, a restraint that came from years of learning to hide what others couldn't see. He wasn't going to push her, not when she was clearly so torn. But his heart—though carefully hidden—felt the sting of her words more than he was willing to show.

He glanced at her hands, watching the way she fidgeted with the mug. He could feel the emotional distance she was trying to put between them, and while part of him wanted to bridge that gap, to pull her back, another part of him respected her space. The hurt he felt was there, but it was buried beneath the layers of patience he had built over the years.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," Sydney continued, her voice trembling now. "But every time I'm near you... I don't know what it is. I shouldn't want you. This is... wrong. It feels like everything is built on lies."

Alan turned slightly, his hand hovering near hers but not quite reaching out. He wanted to offer comfort, but the unspoken tension between them held him back. Instead, he gave a soft, almost rueful chuckle, his voice light and reassuring, though there was a hint of pain in it, carefully veiled.

"I understand why you feel that way," he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. "But feeling something doesn't always make it wrong, Sydney. Wanting something doesn't make it a betrayal. It's just... complicated."

His words were calm, but the emotion behind them was deeper than she could have guessed. He wasn't looking for her to fix it. He wasn't asking her to explain herself. He was just... there.

And yet, his own feelings lingered like an unspoken shadow between them. He knew the turmoil inside her, knew how hard it was for her to reconcile what they were with what they should be. But what hurt more than anything was that she didn't seem to trust what they shared, not enough to let herself feel it fully.

"I don't know if I can forgive myself for wanting this, for betraying my Mom," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alan's eyes softened, but there was a tremor of something more behind them—a vulnerability he kept hidden beneath layers of composure. His fingers twitched slightly, longing to take her hand, but he kept his distance. He was hurt, yes, but he wasn't going to let it show. Not to her.

"How about me?" he said, his voice low and steady, but there was a quiet sadness beneath it. "What will gonna happen to us?."

Sydney closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. She knew the pain in his voice wasn't just for her—it was for them both. And in that moment, she realized how much she had hurt him, even if he wasn't saying it outright. His feelings for her were clear, even in the silence, even in the space he gave her.

But it was her own guilt, her inability to reconcile her feelings, that was driving the wedge between them.

"I don't know what's going to happen," she said, her voice cracking as she finally met his gaze. "But I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. Even when I know it's wrong."

Alan's hand rested on the bed beside her, just close enough to feel the heat of her presence, but he didn't move to touch her. He was holding himself back—holding back the pain, holding back the hope that she would eventually understand. He wasn't going to push her. He wasn't going to force her to make a decision she wasn't ready for.

"Then we take it one step at a time," he said, his voice soft but unwavering. "No expectations. Just us. Whatever it is, whenever you're ready. I'll wait."

Sydney closed her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. There was no easy resolution to this, no perfect solution. But with Alan's steady presence beside her, even in the midst of her confusion, it felt like maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to face it alone.

And in that fragile, uncertain moment, she let herself lean into the comfort of his silence, unsure of what tomorrow would bring, but thankful for the stillness he offered.