Page 6 of Monk

Lawton.

I’d promised myself I’d never go back, that my new life would be enough to erase the old. But the truth was, every step forward was shadowed by what I’d left behind: a fractured bond with my father, ruined friendships, and the guilt that lingered like a bruise.

Seven years. Seven years of running, of telling myself distance was survival, that leaving had kept Tatum safe and spared my father more pain. Yet now, standing alone in the swirl of city life, the old wounds bled fresh. I felt exposed, vulnerable, unsure—longing for the safety of what I’d built, terrified of facing the wreckage I’d left behind.

And now my father lay hooked to machines, alone, probably wondering why his daughter never came home. Because I wastoo afraid—to face the memories, the anger, the heartbreak. Too afraid to admit that I’d hurt him, and myself, by leaving.

My voice trembled, barely audible. “I’ll be there. I’ll catch the first available flight.” Even as the words left me, I felt the split inside—part of me desperate to help, part of me begging to stay, to preserve the fragile peace I’d carved out so painfully.

“Oh, thank God. Thank you, honey. Your daddy—he’s going to be so relieved when he wakes up and sees you.” The hope in her voice pressed against my uncertainty, almost suffocating in its sincerity.

When he wakes up.

Notif. When.I clung to the words, letting them anchor me as the first tears threatened to spill, the city blurring around me. The fear, the guilt, the hope—they all tangled together, raw and real, as I stood on a San Francisco sidewalk, ready to return to a home I barely remembered and a father I never truly understood.

I held onto that—hope, uncertainty, and a promise to face what waited for me in Lawton, no matter how much it threatened to break me.

My boss, Richard Morrison, didn’t even blink when I walked into his office an hour later and asked for a leave of absence.

“Family emergency?” he asked, looking up from his computer.

“My father. He’s in the hospital. I need to go home.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe longer depending on—” I stopped. Swallowed. “Depending on how he does.”

Richard nodded. He was in his sixties, silver-haired and sharp as a knife, and he’d been practicing law longer than I’d been alive. He’d also lost his own father to a stroke five years ago.

He understood.

“Take what you need,” he said. “Your cases are solid. We’ll redistribute what we have to. Family comes first, Lina.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“And, Lina?” He looked at me over his reading glasses. “Your father’s lucky to have you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I thanked him anyway.

When I got home, Tatum was sprawled on her bed with a book. Her dark hair—my hair—fell across her face. She looked up as I entered. In her eyes, I saw John. Those dark, serious eyes always made the world seem like a puzzle she was determined to solve. As I watched her, I felt a familiar ache—John’s absence always lingered in moments like these.

Tatum was barely six, but sometimes I forgot just how young she really was. She carried too much wisdom for her age—sometimes it scared me.

“Hey, baby,” I said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She closed her book and sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Grandpa had an accident. He’s in the hospital, and we need to go see him.”

Her eyes widened, searching mine for reassurance. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I hope so.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but my worries were hard to hide. “But we need to go to Oklahoma. To Lawton. That’s where I grew up.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe a few weeks.” I wanted to give her certainty, but I couldn’t.

She thought about this, her small face serious. “Will I get to meet him? Grandpa David?”