Chapter Fourteen – Holding On
Welcome back to Holding On.
Last time, Rachel set the rules and David broke them, leaving Ralph drained and Rachel furious. But even through the clash, a thread of connection held—dinner at Chris’s table, a shared laugh, the reminder that showing up still counts.
Now, the night turns quieter.
A niece seeking reassurance.
An uncle carrying his own regret.
It’s a chapter about words that never feel enough—
and the ones that linger anyway.
Still holding on. Even when the silences weigh more than the sentences.
Chapter Fourteen
Emma climbed into the passenger seat, her slippers scuffing lightly against the floor mat. She curled up, tucking her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. The faint glow from the dashboard cast soft shadows across her face, her gaze distant, as if she were somewhere else entirely.
David slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door gently. The sound felt too loud in the quiet night. He hesitated, his hands loose on the steering wheel, and glanced sideways at Emma, waiting.
“What’s on your mind, love?” he asked softly, his voice low, careful not to startle her.
Emma didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tugged at the loose hem of her sweater, her movements small and restless. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible, each word fragile and testing.
“I don’t know how to talk to Grandad anymore.”
David shifted in his seat, her words landing harder than he expected.
“What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his tone steady.
Her gaze dropped to her knees, her fingers fidgeting again.
“I try to talk to him, but… I don’t know if he hears me. Or if it matters.”
Her honesty struck a familiar chord, one David had wrestled with himself. He took a slow breath, grounding himself before responding.
“It matters, Emma. Every word you say matters.”
“But what if I don’t say the right things?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What if he doesn’t know how much I love him?”
David turned fully toward her, his expression softening.
“It’s not about saying the perfect thing,” he said gently. “It’s about being there. Every time you’re with him, you’re showing him how much you love him. That’s what matters.”
Emma looked up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“But what if I don’t get another chance? Like with Nana?”
The mention of Lily hit David hard, the ache sharp and sudden. He thought of all the words he hadn’t said to his mother, the moments he’d missed. He searched for a way to explain, to help Emma understand that love wasn’t always in the words—it was in the moments that lingered.
“Can I tell you a story about your Nana?” he asked gently.
Emma blinked, her curiosity cutting through her tears.
“About Nana?”
David nodded.
“When I was about your age, I couldn’t ride a bike. I’d tried a bunch of times, but I always fell. I got frustrated and gave up. But one summer, your Nana decided that wasn’t good enough.”
Emma tilted her head, leaning in closer.
“What did she do?”
“She dragged this old red bike out of the shed, cleaned it up, and told me we weren’t going back inside until I learned.” He chuckled softly. “She made me promise not to tell your mum, though. Said if Rachel found out, she’d never let me hear the end of it.”
Emma giggled, the tension in her shoulders easing.
“Was she a good teacher?”
“Not even a little,” David admitted, laughing. “But I kept trying because she believed in me. She never stopped. And when I finally got it, she patched me up and made me fish fingers and beans. Told me, ‘This one’s just for us.’ She didn’t need to say anything more. I knew she loved me.”
Emma’s gaze softened, her fingers stilling on the loose thread of her sweater.
“Do you think Grandad feels that way about me?”
David reached out, squeezing her hand gently.
“I know he does. Every time you’re there, you show him. That’s what he remembers, Em. That’s what matters.”
Emma nodded slowly, her shoulders easing as relief spread across her features.
“Maybe… maybe I could write him something? Like a letter? I don’t know if I can say everything out loud.”
David smiled warmly.
“That’s a beautiful idea. Write it all down—whatever’s in your heart. You don’t even have to read it to him if you don’t want to. Just having it will mean something.”
Her lips curved into a small, tentative smile.
“You think he’d like that?”
“I know he would,” David said firmly. “And if you want me to be there when you share it, or even just sit with you, I’m here. You don’t have to do it alone.”
Emma nodded again, her shoulders relaxing fully this time.
“Thanks, Uncle David. I think I’ll try.”
David reached out, gently squeezing her hand, his calloused fingers dwarfing hers.
“You’re braver than you think, Emma.”
She didn’t reply, but the look she gave him—grateful, vulnerable, and full of trust—said more than words ever could.
The quiet between them felt lighter now, more open. Emma uncurled herself, smoothing her sweater as she reached for the door handle.
“Goodnight, Uncle David,” she said softly.
“Goodnight, love,” he replied, watching as she padded up the driveway to the front door. She paused, gave him a small wave, then disappeared inside.
Only then did David start the car. The dashboard clock glowed accusingly: he was late. Again.
As he pulled out of the driveway, Emma’s trembling voice echoed in David’s head, her tearful eyes weighing heavier on him than the night itself. He didn’t regret staying with her—not for a second—but now Rachel was waiting, and he already knew how this would end.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel as Rachel’s words surfaced in his mind: You’ve got one job, David—be there on time. He could already picture her pacing outside the hospice, arms crossed, frustration radiating off her like heat. She had every right to be angry. While she juggled their father’s care, he was the one who kept showing up late, fumbling for excuses.
He tried to rehearse what he’d say, running through the same tired apologies, but none of it felt like enough. The truth was messy and heavy, tangled up in Emma’s tears and the ache of her questions. No words could fit that into an apology.
By the time he pulled into the hospice parking lot, his stomach churned. The faint glow of the building’s lights revealed Rachel waiting just outside, her arms folded tight against the cold. Her foot tapped rhythmically against the pavement, a metronome of frustration. He grabbed the container of leftovers Chris had sent with him and stepped out of the car, bracing himself for the inevitable.
“You’re late,” Rachel said, her voice clipped and sharp. “Dad’s been asking for you all evening. Do you even realize what that means?”
“I know. I’m sorry,” David said, holding up his hands.
“Sorry?” She let out a brittle laugh, the sound more hollow than he expected. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, David. I’ve been stuck here for hours, and Dad’s exhausted. You can’t even do this one thing without screwing it up.”
“I didn’t mean to be late,” David said, his voice steady but tight. “Things came up.”
Rachel’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing.
“Things came up. Of course. They always do with you. Something always gets in the way.”
David opened his mouth to respond, to explain, but she held up a hand, silencing him.
“No. Don’t bother.” Her voice wavered, the sharp edge cracking into something rawer. “Just take over, David. I’m done.”
She turned and walked to her car, her boots crunching against the pavement. For a moment, she hesitated at the driver’s side door, one hand gripping the handle. He thought she might look back, say something softer. But then she climbed in, slammed the door, and drove off without a glance.
David stood there, the cold creeping into his skin as her words lingered in the air. The anger, the exhaustion, the disappointment—it all hung between them, sharp and heavy.
He wanted to call after her, to explain why he’d been late. To tell her about Emma’s tears and her questions that had no easy answers. But what would it change? Nothing could soften what she’d already decided. Not tonight.
The hospice was still, the soft shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sound breaking the silence. David approached his father’s room, his pace slowing as he neared the door. Rachel’s cutting words replayed in his mind, clinging like mud he couldn’t shake off. But as he reached the door, he forced himself to let it go. This moment wasn’t about Rachel.
Inside, Ralph lay in bed, his face pale but peaceful. The faint glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows on the walls, softening the lines of the sterile room. David lingered in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the subtle rise and fall of his father’s chest. Emma’s trembling voice echoed in his head, her fear of not saying the right thing. He felt it too—that ache of wanting to get everything right, even when he knew perfect didn’t exist.
“Dad?” he said, stepping inside.
Ralph’s eyes fluttered open, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“David,” he murmured. “About time.”
David let out a soft laugh, his chest tightening at the sound of his father’s voice.
“Sorry, Dad,” he said, lowering himself into the chair beside the bed. “Got held up.”
Ralph waved a hand weakly, brushing off the apology.
“You and Rachel fighting again?”
David smirked, shaking his head.
“What else is new?”
Ralph chuckled softly, the sound thin but warm, like the memory of a laugh.
“She means well, you know. Always has. Don’t let her drive you crazy.”
David nodded, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I know. She’s just trying to hold everything together.”
“And you?” Ralph’s voice dipped, quieter now. “You holding up okay?”
David hesitated, his thoughts tangling around missed moments, good intentions, and the weight of everything left unsaid.
“I’m trying,” he said finally, his voice low. “Feels like I’m messing it up half the time.”
Ralph reached out, his hand resting lightly on David’s arm. The touch was faint but steady.
“Trying is enough,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “It’s always been enough.”
David’s throat tightened, Ralph’s words cutting through the doubt that had been building all night. For a moment, he just sat there, the quiet between them wrapping around him like a balm. The weight of the day didn’t disappear, but it settled—just a little lighter—on his shoulders.
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