Chapter 8 - The Road to Cincinnati
An hour later, my duffel bags, my boxes, and my new drawing tablet were safely stowed in the trunk of Dad’s sedan.
Wyatt stood on the front porch, waving as we backed out of the driveway. He wasn't crying anymore, but there was a quiet, resolute maturity in his stance that hadn't been there on Christmas morning. He was going to be okay. And more importantly, Dad and I were going to be okay too.
The drive down to Cincinnati on Route 71 was crisp, sunny, and quiet in the best possible way. We stopped at a roadside diner just outside of Springfield for a late breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and hot coffee.
"How are you feeling, Luce?" Dad asked, cutting into his stack of pancakes.
"I feel... lighter," I admitted, looking out the diner window at the endless Ohio fields stretching toward the horizon. "Like I don't have to hold my breath anymore when I walk into a room."
Dad smiled, reaching across the table to clink his coffee mug against my glass of orange juice. "Me too, kiddo. Me too. Life is going to look a little different for a while. Two apartments, split schedules, a lot of new routines to figure out. But we’re going to do it honestly. No hidden agendas, no fake fireplace, and no clearance-rack socks."
We both laughed.
When we arrived at my mother’s apartment complex in Cincinnati late that afternoon, my mom was waiting outside on the sidewalk, bundled in a red wool coat with her breath pluming in the cold air.
As soon as Dad parked the car, Mom hurried over, opened my door, and pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe.
"Happy belated Christmas, my love," Mom whispered, kissing the top of my head.
Dad stepped out of the driver's side, walking around to greet my mother with a warm, respectful hug. Over the past three years, my parents had maintained a polite, distant co-parenting relationship, but seeing them standing here now—united in their shared concern for my well-being—felt like a quiet healing of old wounds.
"Thanks for bringing her down safely, Mark," Mom said, looking at him with genuine appreciation. "Do you want to come up for coffee before you head back to Columbus?"
"I should get back," Dad said, glancing down the highway toward the north. "I have a meeting with my lawyer at six, and I need to check into my hotel downtown. But... I’ll call you tomorrow to coordinate the weekend visitation schedule."
Mom nodded. "Drive safe, Mark. Take care of yourself."
Dad helped unload my duffel bags and my art supplies, setting them carefully inside the entryway of my mother’s cozy, sunlit apartment. Before he left, he knelt down and gave me one last, fierce hug.
May you like
"I’ll call you tonight before bed, Lucy," he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "And we’re going to start planning our weekend art sessions together."
"Bye, Dad," I said, smiling. "Drive safe."
