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I nod, understanding all too well the feeling of being disconnected from your own life, your own identity.

“It’s hard,” I say softly, “trying to figure out who the authentic you is, when everything around you is changing.”

He meets my gaze, a flicker of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. “Yeah, exactly.”

I instinctively reach out, my hand resting lightly on his arm, a gesture of comfort and understanding. “There’s no rush. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal, to find your footing again.”

Dan takes a long sip of his beer, his eyes distant.

“You know, back when I was on the show, everything seemed so easy. The fame, the success, the adoration… it was like a drug. I got caught up in it all, letting it consume me.”

He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “But I neglected what truly mattered—my family. I was so focused on my career, on chasing that next high, that next paycheck, that I didn’t realize how much I was missing out on. And then, when Rebecca died…”

His voice catches, and I squeeze his arm gently, silently encouraging him to continue.

“I wasn’t there for her, not the way I should have been. I was too busy, too self-absorbed. Chasing cash, but no idea what for. And now, every day, I carry that guilt with me.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat, my heart aching for him, for the pain he’s endured.

“Dan,” I say softly, “you can’t blame yourself. You wanted to be the provider. There’s nothing wrong with that. You did the best you could, given the circumstances. And you’re here now, for Chloe, being the father she needs. That’s what matters.”

He nods, blinking back the tears that glisten in his eyes.

“I just… I want to do better, tobebetter. For Chloe, for myself. I want to move on, let the light back into my life, into our lives. I don’t know, maybe even date again.”

I debate with myself for a moment whether to revisit the conversation, but there are still things left unsaid. Before I can revert to diplomacy, I blurt it out. “You know… moving on doesn’t just mean dating again.”

Dan’s eyes flick toward me, guarded.

I press on. “It means accepting that things change. Thatpeoplechange.” I glance toward the stairs. “Chloe’s growing up. And she will always be your daughter, but she won’t always be a child.”

His jaw tightens, but he stays quiet.

“You didn’t want to hear it last night,” I continue gently. “But this is a fragile time for her. She’s figuring out who she is, testing boundaries, wanting to prove she’s more independent than she really is. Yes, she’ll want to do things she’s not ready for. Yes, she’ll need your rules, your guidance, your advice…” I pause, making sure he’s really listening. “But what she will need more than anything is your acceptance.”

Dan exhales slowly, his fingers gripping the kitchen countertop just a little tighter. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just lets the words settle.

Finally, he nods. “You’re right.” His voice is low, thoughtful. “I know you are. I just… I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Shewillget hurt,” I say softly. “That’s all part of growing up. It’s unavoidable. But if she knows you’re there, that there’s a safety net, no matter what… That she doesn’t have to be afraid to talk to you, that’s what really matters.”

Dan is quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the dark water beyond. Then, with a small, humorless chuckle, he shakes his head. “I think you’re right.”

I smirk. “I know I’m right.”

He huffs a quiet laugh.

I shift slightly. “Okay, serious question. What do you do for fun?”

Dan blinks. “What?”

“For fun,” I repeat. “You do know what fun is, right?”

He looks genuinely thrown, like it’s the first time anyone’s asked him that in years.

“Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I work on the boathouse when I can. I work out after I drop Chloe off at school. I work at the motel.” He shrugs. “Other than reading, not a lot.”

I frown. “I hear the wordworka lot. Okay, but what about friends? Hanging out?”