I can’t believe I hurt her. Who could hurt such a sweet girl?

Holding hands was one of my favorite parts.

A roar leaves my throat and I stub out the cigar, resuming my pacing on the back porch of the cabin. Holding her hand and leading her into that stupid eye doctor was one of my favorite parts, too. Standing guard while she was examined, handing over my credit card afterward. All of it. Every second. I’m her Daddy and I make everything better for her. It’s a privilege.

You blacken everything.

Maybe it’s true. Even though she makes me feel the opposite. No matter how I dice it, though, the way those motherfuckers were looking at my girl sideways was all because she was with me.

I rear back and throw a punch at the rail, disconnecting it from the deck floor, leaving it teetering on the edge. Growing up, when my parents took me out in public, everyone looked at me the same way they were looking at Clara today. Like a single decision made before I was born was somehow my fault. Men and women alike in that eye doctor gave Clara the same treatment. I didn’t bother to notice how they regarded me. Only her. She’s all I care about. And I can’t be responsible for people treating her bad. She deserves the fucking best of everything.

So I asked her to pretend. To keep our real relationship a secret in public. At the time, it seemed as though the only possibility, if we’re going to stay together. And we are staying together, because I can’t breathe without her. Even now, she’s on the other side of the cabin and I’m not happy. I want her looking up at me with trust in her eyes, every minute of the day. Need Clara. Need.

My boots scuff to a stop on the wooden, leaf-covered planks. There was no trust in how she looked at me when I left the truck, was there? No. No, because she handed me these desires and I embraced them with her. Then I made her feel…wrong. Jesus, did I actually use that word?

This relationship we started in the living room last night, then made solid on the lake’s shore this morning, is something Clara needs twenty-four seven. Knew it when she was practically skipping alongside me in the parking lot, looking up at me with hearts in her eyes. I’ve already limited her, though. Us. I’m not giving her what she needs. What we both need.

I hurt her, instead. I hurt her real bad.

“Clara!” I bellow, walking into the cabin. “Where you at, girl?”

Silence.

Wait. Not total silence. I hear some shuffling near the front entrance and I head in that direction. But when I open the door and expect to find Clara pouting, Hank and Rudy are there, returned from a trek in the woods.

“You seen Clara?”

“No, sir.”

Rudy shakes his head. “She’s not with you?”

She’s supposed to be. Hoping to find Clara in our room, I turn—but something is off about the front yard. Takes me a minute to realize what it is. The bike Clara has been using was leaned up against the tree when we left this morning, but it’s gone now. And there’s a skinny track in the dirt. Fresh. Heading toward the main road.

“She wouldn’t.”

Hank sniffs. “Wouldn’t what?”

Panic cuts into my chest like a buzz saw and I run for the passenger side, finding her bag of contact lenses still sitting on the seat. Bells peal in my head. “She…” I stagger away from the truck, hearing the optometrist’s words in my head. But you’ll need to wear glasses or lenses at all times. Surgery is the only way to repair your eyes for good. Without them, you’re still at risk for falls. “She’s on her bike and she can’t see right. Christ, she’s going to…”

Don’t think it. Don’t say it. Just move.

But as I run for the driver’s side, every worst-case scenario under the sun flashes in front of my eyes. And I never told her I love her.