Noah sat at his desk for three hours before he could write the first word.
The paper mocked him. Blank. White. Waiting.
His hand cramped around the pen. He'd started twenty times. Crumpled every attempt. The trash can overflowed with failed beginnings.
*Dear Dad,*
Too formal.
*To the man who left,*
Too angry.
*I don't know why I'm writing this,*
Too weak.
He threw the pen across the room. It hit the wall. Clattered to the floor.
His phone sat face down on the desk. Silent. No messages from Leighton. Three days since the phone call. She'd blocked every number he had.
Focus. He needed to focus.
Dr. Voss said write it all out. Every question. Every hurt. Get it out of his system so he could stop carrying it around.
Noah picked up the pen. Started again.
*You don't deserve a gree
