Jess’ pov:
I flinch when my father’s hand brushes mine, his warm fingers pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. His concern is written all over his face, the crease in his brow deepening as he leans closer.
“Jess, what’s going on? You haven’t even touched your waffles. Aren’t they your favorite?” His voice is soft but firm, his gaze locking onto mine. “I brought you to your favorite diner, and you’ve been staring off into space since we sat down. Talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
I sigh before dragging my fork across the plate, pushing the waffles aimlessly. The sweet smell of syrup and butter clings to the air, but it does nothing for me.
“Trust me, Dad, what I’m thinking about… it’s not something I can just say out loud. It’s not something you can fix.” I take a deep breath. “Y
