Freya

The hotel was beautiful. Too beautiful for what it actually held.

A year into my father’s marriage, I’ve learned how things work. Lidia smiles in front of him. Amelia and Sarah play sweet daughters when he’s watching. And when he isn’t — I become extra luggage.

Three beds in the suite. One for Amelia. One for Sarah. The third carefully arranged for their dog.

None for me.

They said it lightly. Like it wasn’t cruel. Like suggesting I sleep in the bathroom was just harmless fun. I stood in the corner with my suitcase still closed, pretending it didn’t sting.

Then Papa walked in.

He saw the room. He saw them. And then he saw me.

The performance started immediately — innocent voices, excuses, Lidia smoothing everything over from the doorway. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at me curled against the wall.

His jaw tightened.

“She’s not staying here.”

That was all.

He took my hand and walked me out while they protested behind us. He didn’t argue. He didn’t explain. He just chose me.

Minutes later, we stepped into a private suite overlooking the ocean. Soft lights. Balcony doors open to the sound of waves. A bed big enough to swallow every lonely night I’ve had this past year.

I turned slowly, still holding his hand.

“Papa… this is too much.”

“It’s exactly enough,” he said quietly.

I swallowed, the guilt creeping in like it always does.

“They’re going to hate me more after this.”

He brushed my hair back from my face. “That’s not your burden to carry.”

I hesitated before asking the thing that had been sitting heavy in my chest.

“Will this ruin things between you and Lidia?”

For a moment, the room felt very still.

And I realized that loving me had become something that cost him.