The pages of my textbook blurred as my eyes darted between notes, formulas, and underlined sections. Midterms were coming up, and I had no time for distractions.

Suzy, however, had other plans.

"You wouldn’t believe it," she said, lying on her bed, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her fingers.

"He actually ordered for me. Like, without even asking. Can you believe that?"

I muttered something noncommittal, eyes glued to my book.

Suzy sighed dramatically. "Sophie, you are the worst audience. Can you at least pretend to be outraged?"

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I smirked, finally glancing up. "I don’t know, Suzy. Maybe he thought you’d take too long deciding?"

She gasped, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at me. "Rude!"

I dodged it, laughing. "I’m just saying, I’ve seen you take twenty minutes to pick a smoothie flavor."

Before she could come up with a sassy reply, a knock at the door cut through the moment.

Suzy raised a brow. "Expecting someone?"

I shook my head. No one ever came for me.

Rachel, a girl from down the hall, poked her head in. "Hey, Sophie. You got a visitor."

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I blinked. "A visitor?"

Rachel jerked her thumb toward the hallway. "Yeah. He’s standing out there. Looks kinda… familiar?"

My stomach twisted.

Confused, I got up and walked past her, my heart thumping too hard against my ribs.

And then I saw him.

Ronnie.

He stood near the entrance, hands in the pockets of a worn leather jacket, rocking slightly on his heels like he wasn’t sure if he should be there.

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His graying hair was slicked back, his smirk the same as I remembered—too easy, too familiar, too practiced.

My feet felt like lead.

Rachel leaned in. "You know him?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. Yeah, I knew him.

And now, after all these years, after disappearing when I needed him the most… he was here.

I stared at him, still trying to understand how he—the man who had vanished from my life—was suddenly standing in front of me, grinning like we had some kind of bond.

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"Ronnie?" I repeated, my voice sharper this time. "What are you doing here?"

His grin widened. "Come on, kid. What’s with the ‘Ronnie’?" He placed a hand over his chest, mocking hurt. "We’re family. Call me Dad."

The word hit me wrong, curling in my stomach like spoiled milk.

I straightened my shoulders. "We’re not family."

His expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of something behind his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or frustration.

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But just as quickly, he smoothed it over with that same easy-going smirk.

"Still stubborn, huh?" He reached out, patted my shoulder like he had any right to touch me.

"Let’s catch up. It’s been too long."

Too long?

I clenched my fists. He had disappeared after my mother died.

Left me to scrape together a life on my own, while my grandmother stepped up and did what he should have done. She paid for everything—my food, my school, my survival.

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And now he was here. Acting like he hadn’t abandoned me.

I forced a breath through my nose. "Why now?"

His smirk never wavered. Instead, he dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small package wrapped in tissue paper.

"I got something for you," he said, holding it out.

I hesitated before taking it, my fingers stiff as I unwrapped the thin layers.

Inside was a pink pen—the kind with a tiny bunny on top, ears flopping down like it had been plucked from a cheap souvenir shop.

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I let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Are you kidding me?"

Ronnie tilted his head, amused. "What?"

I held up the pen, shaking it slightly. "I’m not ten anymore."

His face twitched—just for a second—but then he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, come on, Sophie. It’s a joke! Lighten up."

A joke.

A father who left me behind and thought he could walk back into my life with a cheap pink pen and a forced smile.

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I should have walked away. I should have told him to go.

But I didn’t.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, something about this sudden attention… felt good.

I folded my arms, studying him. "Why are you really here?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he threw an arm around my shoulders, like we were old friends.

"You know what?" he said, voice too cheerful. "Let’s celebrate. Your favorite restaurant is still in town, right?"

I stiffened at the contact, but he just squeezed my shoulder, like he belonged here.

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I hesitated. "Ronnie—"

"Dad—" he corrected, his tone sharp for the first time.

The air shifted.

"Come on," he coaxed, the forced charm sliding back into place. "Say it. Dad."

The word stuck in my throat.

I clenched my teeth. "Ron..—Dad. It’s expensive."

He winked, flashing a grin too easy, too smooth. "Don’t worry, kid. Tonight, it’s all on me."

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I should have said no.

Instead, I nodded.

The restaurant was exactly as I remembered—dim lights, soft music humming through the air, and the rich scent of butter and garlic clinging to the air like an old friend.

For the first time in years, I let myself relax.

Ronnie ordered for both of us, insisting I try the lobster bisque, saying it was “too good to pass up.” I barely protested. He was paying.

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He poured on the charm, filling the conversation with stories and easy laughter.

"So, you still that bookworm?" he asked, cutting into his steak. "I remember you used to walk around with your nose stuck in a novel. Drove your mom crazy."

I smirked. "I still read. But mostly for school now."

"Smart girl," he said, nodding in approval. "Taking after me."

I almost choked on my drink.

Taking after him?

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The man who vanished for years and now suddenly wanted to play the role of a father?

But I let it slide. Let myself believe this was real.

Maybe, just maybe, he was trying.

For once, I let my guard down. Allowed myself to enjoy it.

By the time dessert arrived—a massive chocolate cake drizzled in warm caramel—I was stuffed.

I leaned back, laughing at some stupid story Ronnie told about getting lost on the subway, waving away the last few bites of my cake.

And then—

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He asked it.

"You talk to your grandma much?"

I blinked, my stomach tightening.

"What?"

Ronnie took a slow sip of his drink, watching me too closely now.

"Your grandma, sweetheart," he said, keeping his tone light. "How’s her health?"

A chill snapped down my spine.

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I set down my fork, suddenly not hungry anymore. The warmth from before vanished, replaced by something sharp.

I forced a small shrug. "We talk sometimes," I said carefully. "She’s fine."

Ronnie smiled too wide, leaning back in his chair.

"She’s very generous, huh? Paying for your school like that?"

There it was.

The shift.

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I felt it in my bones—the way the conversation turned.

"I guess," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

Ronnie tapped his fingers on the table. "Gotta have a lot of money to do that, huh?"

I didn’t like where this was going.

"Ronnie—"

"Dad—" he corrected again, his tone a little tighter.

I clenched my jaw. This game again.

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I forced a nod. "R—Dad… what’s this about?"

He sighed dramatically, rubbing his hands together like he was about to deliver bad news.

"Look, sweetheart, I got myself into a little situation," he said. "A business investment—real promising stuff, but, uh, I need a little help to hold things over."

I stared at him.

"You need money."

Ronnie spread his hands, as if the word itself was offensive.

"Not money, just… a little loan. From your grandma."

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A sharp laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"You want a loan from Grandma?" I repeated, incredulous.

Ronnie’s jaw twitched, just for a second. "Don’t make it sound like that. It’s temporary. I just need a little help. She’s got the money. She won’t even miss it."

"Then why don’t you ask her yourself?"

Ronnie’s expression darkened for half a second before he plastered that easygoing smile back on.

"We’ve had… communication issues," he said, voice forced into something pleasant.

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That was an understatement.

"You," I said slowly, watching his reaction, "want me to convince my grandma to give you money?"

Ronnie leaned forward, dropping the act altogether.

"Sophie. She loves you. She’d do anything for you." His voice was smooth, too smooth. "Just talk to her, sweetheart. She won’t say no to you."

I felt sick.

Of course. This wasn’t about me.

This dinner, this sudden fatherly act—it was all about getting to Grandma’s money.

I should have seen it sooner.

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Should have walked out right then.

But then—

Ronnie reached across the table and grabbed my hand.

"Please," he said, voice lower now, quieter, like he was sealing a deal. "Just trust your old man, alright?"

My fingers twitched in his grip.

Trust.

A word that meant nothing coming from him.

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And yet—

I nodded.

"Alright," I whispered.

The next day, I sat across from my grandmother, Laura, twisting my hands in my lap.

The familiar scent of chamomile tea and fresh-baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the unease bubbling in my chest.

She poured me tea, moving with the same quiet grace she always had. Laura was steady, unshaken, a presence that had anchored me since my mother died.

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"You look troubled, darling," she said, handing me a delicate porcelain cup. "What’s on your mind?"

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the teacup too tightly.

"I… need money," I said finally.

Laura raised an eyebrow, stirring her tea without breaking eye contact. "Oh?"

I forced a small laugh. "Just some… debts. For school. I’ll pay it back, I swear."

She took a slow sip, then set her cup down with a gentle clink.

"Sophie," she said softly. "Why don’t you tell me the truth?"

My stomach dropped.

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"What?" I tried to sound surprised, but my voice wavered.

Laura sighed, watching me carefully. "This is about Ronnie, isn’t it?"

I froze.

"H—How did you—"

"Because this isn’t the first time." She shook her head, a tired sadness in her eyes. "The only difference is, this time, he sent you instead of coming himself."

I felt sick.

All the warmth from before drained out of the room.

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"But… he said—"

"He always says," she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. "He always promises. And he always disappears the moment he gets what he wants."

Tears burned my eyes.

I looked down at my hands, ashamed.

Laura reached out, took my hand gently, squeezing it with quiet strength.

"You have a good heart, Sophie. Too good." She sighed. "You were willing to give up your education, your future, for that man."

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I bit my lip hard, the weight of my choices pressing down on me.

"You remind me of your mother," Laura continued. "She would have done the same thing. And that’s why I won’t let you ruin your life over him."

I swallowed. "You’re… not mad?"

She smiled, the kind of smile that held years of understanding. "No, sweetheart. But I’m giving you a choice."

Laura stood, walked to her desk, and pulled out a checkbook.

"I’ll give you the money—because it’s yours, not his. But whether you give it to him or not… that’s up to you."

I sat there, shaking, as the truth settled deep in my bones.

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Ronnie would never change.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel guilty for saying no.

A few days later, I met Ronnie in a small coffee shop.

The moment he saw me walk in, his face lit up, that same old grin plastered on his face like he’d already won.

"See? I knew I could count on you, kid," he said, reaching for the envelope in my hand.

I held onto it, just a second longer.

His fingers twitched.

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"If you tell me the truth—what the money is really for—I’ll give it to you," I said, my voice calm, steady.

His grin faltered.

"Come on, sweetheart. It’s just business. You don’t need to worry about the details."

I didn’t budge.

"Tell me the truth, Ronnie."

For a second, just a second, his mask slipped.

A flicker of annoyance, a tightening of his jaw. Then, just as quickly, he smoothed it over.

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But it was enough.

He pulled his hand back.

And I knew.

Without another word, I stood. Turned. Walked straight to the bank.

This time, I chose my future.

And I never looked back.

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