Page 9 of Collide

I don’t belong here. The truth is, these people are my family, but I don’tknowthem.

Not really.

“Elena,” Philippa calls after me, her voice tight, panicked.

I shut the door on her.

Exhaling slowly, I press my back against the wood. Frustration simmers beneath the surface. His gift doesn’t undo silence. It doesn’t explain why he was never there, or why he failed to show up when it mattered.

He doesn’t know me.

Never did.

And maybe—maybe—he never wanted to.

That thought loops in my head like a song stuck on repeat. I press my palms into my forehead, digging my fingers into my scalp like I can force the thoughts out.

I collapse onto the bed, head spinning, chest tight. I stare up at the ceiling. Tears threaten, but I fight them. Not now. Not here.

I’m so mad at him. Still mad. What I need isn’t a condo or a key. It’swhy. I want him tosay it. Admit what he did. Tell me why I was never enough.

I breathe in. Out. Again.

I’m trying to hold it together.

And then her voice echoes—faint, warm—Mom’s voice:Anak, choose your battles. Your father…he loves you in his own way. He loves you.

I cling to it. Because right now? I feel alone.

Here.

Everywhere.

Letting out a long groan, I get up off the bed, knowing deep down the only way forward is if Itry. And right now, I’m not. Not really. Not for myself. But maybe for Philippa, for Jack, for Mom, I can try harder.

Back in the living room, they’re seated, talking quietly. Philippa’s brows are furrowed, lips tight. My father’s face is drawn with concern. The sight of them makes me hesitate.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, voice low. “I’d blame jet lag, but really…I was being a bitch.” I hang my head, the shame creeping in, hot and slow. “This is all…a lot. I’m overwhelmed.”

The words leave my mouth, and I feel a little lighter.

“Oh, Elena…” Philippa stands. Her voice cracks, and the pain on my face must hit her full force.

My father rises too. “Elena, I know I’ve made mistakes,” he falters, voice more fragile than I’ve heard it in years, “but I’ll try my best to make them right.”

Sadness shadows his eyes, and for a second, I falter. My instinct is to retreat, to armor up again. But the look he gives me—soft, regretful—makes it harder.

My throat tightens. I’m not ready to let it all go.

Not yet.

I’ve got my own sadness to wade through first.

“Thank you both for the apartment,” I mutter, glancing between them. “And I’ll try, too.” It’s not a promise. Not really. But it’s something.

After an incident-free lunch, I find out that Andrew and Philippa both work for my father—so predictable.

She’s one of his executive directors, managing his endless property portfolios, and Andrew works in the finance division. As expected.