All Chapters of Don't Stop, Daddy: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The dining table at the lake house had always been a place for warmth, laughter, and stories from summers past. Tonight, it was suffocating. The polished mahogany gleamed too brightly under the chandelier, its reflection like a cruel spotlight on Sierra’s guilt.She sat between her mother and Damien, her fork trembling each time it touched porcelain. Vanessa was glowing as usual, her auburn hair pulled into a loose bun, a glass of wine balanced effortlessly in her hand as she spoke animatedly about her latest design project. “The firm wants me to take on another client in New York,” she said, smiling at Damien. “But I told them no. I want this summer to be ours.”Damien gave a small nod, his face the picture of devotion. To anyone else, he was the perfect husband, attentive and calm. But Sierra knew the truth. She could feel it in the way his gaze lingered too long, the way the air thickened when his eyes met hers across the table.And then under the cover of linen, she felt it. The s

Morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen, bouncing off glass and wood as if determined to make the lake house look cheerful. But to Sierra, it only sharpened the edges of her nerves. She sat at the table with her hands curled around a steaming mug, staring at the ripples on the surface of her untouched coffee.Vanessa was opposite her, robe tied neatly, hair smoothed into waves. Her mother’s eyes lingered too long on Sierra’s face, her silence heavier than any scolding. Normally, Vanessa filled the morning with chatter about work emails or plans for the day, but today her restraint was terrifying.“You’re quiet,” Sierra said finally, her voice small.Vanessa smiled, but it didn’t warm her features. “Just thinking.” She sipped her coffee. “People think they know others, even the ones they love. But sometimes, we miss things, don’t we?”Sierra’s pulse kicked hard in her throat. She managed a stiff nod, pretending to look at the lake. Vanessa’s words weren’t casual; they were daggers cl

The house that morning was too quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed with tension, where every sound clinking china, the creak of a chair, the whisper of movement down the hall seemed sharper, magnified.Sierra padded into the kitchen, still in her robe, her stomach twisted with nerves. Vanessa was at the stove, her posture impeccable, flipping eggs as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But there was something in the way her shoulders moved too precise, too deliberate.“Morning, sweetheart,” Vanessa said, her voice light, sweet. “Hungry?”Sierra shook her head, clutching the robe tighter.“Not even a little? You’ve been skipping meals lately.” Vanessa glanced over her shoulder, her eyes unreadable. “You look pale.”Before Sierra could answer, Damien entered, the weight of his presence immediately filling the room. He looked as calm as always, dressed in a tailored charcoal shirt that fit his body like armor. His gaze flicked to Sierra briefly, then to Vanessa, and for

The house felt like a storm waiting to break. Every room carried the static of unspoken truths, every wall seemed to echo with the weight of Vanessa’s silence.Sierra moved through the halls in a daze, her chest tight. She could barely look at her mother without feeling her throat close, and she could barely meet Damien’s eyes without her pulse betraying her. She was stretched thin, unraveling thread by thread, and Vanessa always poised, always immaculate was the one holding the scissors.That evening, Vanessa announced dinner. Not the casual kind. This was a formal table set with silver polished to a mirror shine, candles lit, and crystal glasses gleaming. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.Sierra almost begged Damien not to go. But he simply said, “We face her together.”The DinnerThe air was heavy as they sat. Vanessa poured the wine herself, her hands graceful, controlled. Damien’s face was unreadable, carved from stone. Sierra sat in silence, trapped between them, the te

The storm had shifted. Sierra could feel it in the air the next morning, in the way her mother’s voice was lighter, almost cheerful, like a cat that had cornered a mouse and was simply waiting to pounce.She sat at the vanity in her room, brushing her hair, when the knock came. It was soft, polite. But when she turned, Vanessa was already in the doorway.“Busy?” Vanessa asked, her tone warm but her eyes sharp.Sierra’s throat tightened. “No, Mom. Come in.”Her mother’s perfume drifted in first, a subtle floral scent that carried more weight than it should have. Vanessa crossed the room with deliberate grace, closing the door behind her. The sound of the latch sliding into place made Sierra’s stomach drop.“I wanted to spend some time with you,” Vanessa said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We’ve barely talked since you came home. You’ve seemed… distant.”“I’m just tired,” Sierra muttered, avoiding her gaze.Vanessa studied her reflection in the mirror, as if searching for cracks in t