They met at a diner off Highway 14. Neutral territory.

Jada wore her armor — black jeans, hoodie, hair in a bun. Her father wore a smile like nothing was broken between them.

“I’m glad you called,” he said, sliding into the booth.

“I almost didn’t,” she replied.

He laughed like it was a joke.

She didn’t.

They talked. About nothing. The weather. Work. His new wife.

But Jada didn’t come for small talk.

She leaned forward. “Why weren’t you there?”

He looked startled. “I was. Sometimes.”

“That’s not the same.”

His jaw tightened. “I did my best.”

“No. You did what was convenient.”

That shut him up.

Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “I spent my whole life trying to earn love I should have had for free. And I’m tired.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Not I’m sorry I hurt you.

Just sorry she felt that way.

She left without hugging him.

But in the parking lot, she let herself cry.

And this time, it wasn’t about Micah.