All Chapters of my girlfriend's Dad: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The late afternoon sun cut across the living room in golden strips. Lily sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, scrolling through work emails with half her attention on the TV. Eli sat at the other end, knees drawn up, a blanket draped loosely over his legs. It should have felt normal. It almost did. But the weight in Eli’s pocket — even though the key was gone now — felt like it was still there. Like a ghost pressing against his skin. “You okay?” Lily asked, glancing up. “Yeah,” Eli said quickly. “Just tired.” She tilted her head, studying him the way she did when she wasn’t quite buying something. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.” “I guess.” “School? Or…?” Eli shifted, the blanket sliding down a little. “School. Mostly.” She hummed, fingers tapping the keys absently. Then, without looking at him, she said, “Dad mentioned you helped him in the garage yesterday.” Eli froze for half a second too long. “Yeah,” he said, careful, even. “What were you work

The first day felt normal. People got busy. Messages got lost. Life didn’t stop just because Eli wanted it to. By the second day, he noticed the silence. Not a single text. No little buzz in his pocket with a clipped order hidden under a polite excuse. Nothing. By the third, it wasn’t silence anymore. It was static. He checked his phone every hour, trying to make it look casual even though no one was there to see him. It wasn’t like Damian was the type to ghost anyone. He wasn’t needy. He wasn’t emotional. When he wanted something, he made it known, and when he didn’t, he didn’t pretend. But this wasn’t not wanting. Eli could feel that in his bones. This was something else. It was control. It was the leash being loosened — not dropped, not broken — just slackened enough to make him ache for the tug. He hated it. And he craved it. By the fourth day, Lily started to notice. They were on the couch, movie playing. Some rom-com she loved, the kind with predictable k

The first day felt normal.People got busy. Messages got lost. Life didn’t stop just because Eli wanted it to.By the second day, he noticed the silence. Not a single text. No little buzz in his pocket with a clipped order hidden under a polite excuse. Nothing.By the third, it wasn’t silence anymore. It was static.He checked his phone every hour, trying to make it look casual even though no one was there to see him. It wasn’t like Damian was the type to ghost anyone. He wasn’t needy. He wasn’t emotional. When he wanted something, he made it known, and when he didn’t, he didn’t pretend.But this wasn’t not wanting. Eli could feel that in his bones. This was something else.It was control.It was the leash being loosened — not dropped, not broken — just slackened enough to make him ache for the tug.He hated it.And he craved it.By the fourth day, Lily started to notice.They were on the couch, movie playing. Some rom-com she loved, the kind with predictable kisses and good lighting.

Sunday morning light came in sharp, warm strips through the blinds. The house felt quieter than usual — like everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first. Lily sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, but her eyes weren’t on the screen. They were on the night before, replaying it, cutting it into pieces, testing every look, every pause. She wasn’t angry. Not yet. Curiosity came first — and with it, a quiet, surgical kind of fear. She typed her father’s name into a search bar. Not because she thought she’d find anything — Damian kept his life clean on paper — but because the itch of a secret begged to be scratched. She skimmed company websites, charity write-ups, conference photos. Normal. All normal. She looked up when she felt eyes on her. Eli stood in the doorway, hair damp from the shower, wearing the T-shirt she liked best on him. He looked, for all the world, like her boyfriend. But now she saw the tension in his jaw like a watermark — something only visible i

The apartment was dim when Eli finally worked up the nerve to climb the stairs. The rain hadn’t let up; it clung to him, a cold layer soaking through his jacket, running down his neck. He stood at the door longer than he should have, keys in hand, heart hammering, wishing for one more minute of silence before the world changed again. He opened the door quietly, like noise might make things worse. The lights in the kitchen were on. Lily sat at the table, hands wrapped around a mug she wasn’t drinking from. Her eyes lifted when she heard him, but her face didn’t move. “You came,” she said. Her voice wasn’t bitter. It was flat, like gravity. “You asked,” Eli said. He set his jacket on the back of a chair, sat opposite her. The distance between them — a single table, two mugs, a silence heavy enough to fill every inch of air — felt wider than the night outside. “I don’t want a performance,” Lily said finally. “No half-truths, no waiting to see what I already know. Just tell me.” El