Author's Note: Thank you all for the support you guys sent me for the first chapter! It's looking like this is going to be a three-shot or four-shot because I've barely scratched the surface of what I want to do with it, so expect to see more updates soon! After this chapter, I'll be focusing more on Madeline and Amelia's relationship, so that'll be coming up later. For now, brace yourself for some Dr. Kirkland.

If you can, please leave a review to let me know how I'm doing! I appreciate any and all feedback. :)

It's like stepping on another planet.

Amelia has been in the city so long she has forgotten what silence is like. When she climbs out of the car and onto the gravel path leading up to Maddie's house, a sense of serenity washes over her, and she feels like she's a million miles away from Los Angeles and New York. For once, no one's in a rush. No sirens, no shouting, no traffic…It's peaceful.

She can see why people choose to go on nature retreats or buy themselves cabins in the middle of nowhere—there's a sense of liberation you can feel out here that you just can't get when you're on a stuffy train or weaving through clusters of people on a busy city street.

Past the landscape of greenery lies Madeline and Gilbert's two-story house. The stone-veneer siding and bay windows give Amelia the urge to sit down by a fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate despite the sizzling heat outside.

When Maddie and Gilbert come out to greet them, Amelia has to widen her eyes in awe when she sees how great her sister looks. There's a rosy glow to her cheeks, and her blonde hair spirals down her right shoulder in a French braid. She's the picture of health and happiness—the exact opposite of Amelia's state.

She can't help but feel envious.

Papa is the first one to say hello. He shakes Gilbert's hand and gives him a hug before turning to Madeline and kissing her cheek. He speaks to her enthusiastically in French, and Amelia doesn't understand everything, but she does know that Papa mentions something about how wonderful she looks. It seems like everyone's having a great time except Amelia.

Scratch that. Maybe not everyone.

She looks to her left and sees that Dad is still sitting in the passenger's seat. The car door is open, but he's hunched over and can't seem to get up. She catches him discreetly trying to rub his lower back again.

She sighs at him and leans down to talk to him, keeping her voice low so the others don't overhear. "You okay? When are you finally going to admit that you need to see a doctor?"

Naturally, he evades her questions and murmurs, "Would you mind giving me a hand?"

She quickly grabs his left hand to pull him up and uses her other arm to support him around his waist as he staggers to a standing position.

"Thank you, love."

"No problem. Now, can you finally talk to a specialist about this?"

"It won't do me any good."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've already diagnosed myself."

In Dad's eyes, there's nothing more horrible than a doctor having to go to another doctor for medical help. It's a matter of pride.

Amelia makes sure to direct a firm glare at him in disapproval. "You know you're not supposed to do that. You need a second opinion. You can't always cure yourself."

"It's only a herniated disc."

"And what's the treatment for that?"

Dad glances at the others to make sure they're still out of earshot and mumbles, "MRI to confirm, bed rest, and then physical therapy for a number of weeks. In rare cases, surgery may be necessary."

"It's been over a month, and you haven't gotten yourself an MRI, you haven't rested, and you haven't tried physical therapy. How do you expect to get better?" Amelia lectures him, and it's ironic how the tables have turned. She doesn't understand how he can be such a competent doctor, but when it comes to his own health, he's clueless.

By now, Maddie and Gilbert are finished greeting Papa and are heading over toward them next. Amelia lets her arm fall away from Dad's waist, and he's able to stay upright for now. There's a copious amount of sweat beading on his brow, and Amelia doesn't think it's from the heat.

"Is everything okay?" Madeline asks, smiling at both of them before she hugs them tightly. "It's good to see you two! Amelia, how are you feeling?"

"I've been better, but you know—one day at a time," Amelia assures her before diverting the attention elsewhere. She really doesn't want to talk about herself at the moment, and thankfully, she doesn't have to because Dad starts talking to Maddie about her seasonal allergies, which gives her an opening to break away from the hug.

A hand plops itself onto her head and tousles her hair like she's a little kid—it's Gilbert. He's wearing a pearly grin, and he hasn't changed a bit since Amelia last saw him. Being his sister-in-law means she has to put up with his teasing every now and then.

"Hey, Gil. How's it going?"

"Awesome, as always! How about you? Are you okay, all things considered?" he asks.

"I'm hanging in there," she replies, and that seems to be a good enough response. She's glad no one's trying to get her to elaborate. She's almost positive Dad called them beforehand and gave them a long talk about not pressuring her into sharing anything she's not comfortable discussing. Hopefully, this means they won't directly ask her about her situation.

Speaking of Dad, she turns around to see how he's doing, and though he steps forward to shake Gilbert's hand and tries to act like he's fine, he's quite pale, and he looks like he might lose his balance and topple over at any given moment.

Papa places a cautious hand on his shoulder and asks, "Are you feeling ill, mon cher?"

This has gone on for long enough. Amelia knows from whom she gets her coping mechanisms now. She, too, has a tendency to deny there's an issue when she needs help, and, in that way, she can sympathize with her father. That said, someone needs to bully him into resting before he ends up needing an ambulance. God knows how far the nearest hospital is.

He was there for her, and now it's time to return the favor, even if he's not going to be pleased with it.

"Papa, there's something you need to know. Dad's back has been hurting him for well over a month now, and he refuses to get help. He can barely move," she explains, pretending not to see the sour look on Dad's face.

Papa clicks his tongue and whacks Dad's shoulder lightly. "Is that true? Why didn't you say anything? We have a long drive home tonight, and how do you think you're going to sit through it in this state?"

Dad takes a few more steps forward and growls, "I'm fine," but it's clear by his gait and the way he's limping that he's worse for wear. He's favoring his left side, but when Gilbert holds out his arm to help him into the house, he dismisses the offer and stalks away.

"I'll talk to him, don't you girls worry," Papa promises, and both he and Gilbert dare to go after him while Madeline and Amelia stay behind.

"I see Dad's being his usual self," Maddie nervously jokes. "In the meantime, why don't I give you a tour? We can go to the stable, and I can introduce you to the horses."

Amelia lets out a heavy breath and nods. "Sure, sounds good."

"These are my babies. Kuma's a little shy around new people, but maybe he'll let you pet him."

Kumajirou, one of Madeline's two prized horses, is a proud and regal white gelding. He's a bit intimidating, and seeing as Amelia hasn't been this close to a horse since she was little, venturing to touch him is admittedly pretty scary. She extends a hand to him, but he swiftly rears back and huffs indignantly, as if to say that she hasn't earned the right to touch him yet.

"Sorry about that," Maddie apologizes. "Kuma, be nice. This is my sister, Amelia, and she's going to be staying with us for a while, so you have to get used to her, okay?"

But Kuma doesn't seem interested in anything Madeline has to say and decides to chew on some oats instead.

Maddie's other horse, Maple, seems friendlier. She's an American paint horse that looks exactly as her name suggests—the golden splotches on her coat make it look like someone drizzled maple syrup over her. She whinnies at Amelia and allows her to pet her forehead and mane, even going as far as to lean into her touch.

"She already loves you," Madeline notes before giving Maple a pat of approval. "Wanna try riding her?"

"No way, sis. I've been in the city my whole life, remember?"

"Come on, I'll help you. You can take her for a stroll."

Amelia's not too sure about this, but she doesn't want to rain on Madeline's parade this early into her stay, so she follows her and Maple into the round pen designed for riding the horses. Her heart races as they walk through the wooden gate. Is it true that horses can sense when you're nervous or afraid? Will Maple lash out at her because she's so uneasy?

Maddie tells her to put a foot in one of the stirrups and to try to pull herself into the saddle.

Easier said than done.

She slips on the first try, but then Maddie gives her a helpful push, and she succeeds on the next try without cracking her skull. It's a lot higher up than she thought it would be! Jeez!

"All right, now hang on tight, okay? I'll guide Maple for you, so all you need to do is make sure you stay in the saddle."

"Got it."

Maple follows Maddie's lead into a slow trot, and they go around the perimeter of the pen a few times.

"I feel so powerful and aristocratic up here," Amelia jokes. "I wanna order some people around to do my bidding, you know?"

Maddie giggles and says, "If you feel powerful now, try barrel racing. That's when the real rush sets in."

"I think that's a little too advanced for me."

"I've tried to make Gilbert do it, and he's getting better…You okay? Not so scary now, right?"

"Yeah, I'm good!"

Maddie grins. "Good."

"All right, I think I want to see your skills now," Amelia says, gesturing her head toward the white barrels scattered around the pen.

Madeline obliges and carefully helps Amelia out of the saddle and back onto the ground before climbing up onto Maple herself. "I usually compete with Kuma because I've been training with him longer, but I can do it with Maple, too. I'll show you it with Kuma next time…You ready?"

Amelia exits through the gate so she can be on the other side of the fence and out of harm's way before saying, "Ready as I'll ever be. Go for it!"

Without further ado, Maple storms off at a dizzying pace toward one of the barrels, and Madeline maneuvers her around it with practiced elegance and speed. It's like they're dancing, and Madeline is the choreographer, measuring out every twist and turn with precision. She uses Maple's momentum to her advantage and just seems to know at exactly which second she should get Maple to turn around the barrel. It's mesmerizing to watch, and Maddie looks completely at ease and in her element, bouncing up and down in sync with Maple's movements.

When they come to a halt, Maple kicks up a cloud of dirt, and Amelia smiles up at them, impressed.

"How do you do it?" she asks. Maddie is supposed to be the shy one. How is it that she can get up on a horse and look like she's on top of the world?

Madeline pants a little to catch her breath and shrugs her shoulders. "With lots of practice. Don't worry, I'll get you racing soon enough, too."

"Oh, no. I'm good, really."

They both laugh, and Amelia follows Madeline as she takes Maple back to the stable, still wonderstruck and smiling.

"Maybe if we put a pillow under his legs, it'll help with the pain. That's what Maddie did when she sprained a muscle in her back last year after one of her competitions," Gilbert says as he and Francis try to get Arthur in bed without putting him through excruciating pain.

"If you would both stop crowding around me, I'd feel much better," Arthur snarls, swatting their hands away. He lowers himself onto the queen-sized bed in one of the guestrooms and wedges an extra pillow under his head and another one under his calves to relieve some of the pressure on his spine.

"Now what?" Francis asks Gilbert, and Arthur is quite insulted that he's pointedly being left out of the discussion.

Being coddled like this is maddening!

"Hand me my bag," he instructs the two of them, and fortunately, they listen.

He takes his backpack from Francis and digs around the middle pocket to get one of the hot packs he brought with him for a situation like this. When he finds it, he squeezes it to activate the warming gel and kneads it a few times to distribute the heat throughout it evenly, and then, he holds it against the sore spot in his lumbar spine. It helps alleviate some of the pain, but not much.

"I know an orthopedist who's a twenty-minute drive away from here. Maybe going to him would be a good idea," Gilbert suggests.

Francis frowns. "But how are we going to get Arthur into the car?"

"The doctor might be willing to make a house call."

Arthur sits up quickly and shouts, "No, absolutely not!"

It's not his brightest idea because, a second later, a jolt of pain flares up in his back and travels down the length of his right leg, all the way down to his toes. Damn. Sciatica—a new symptom that means this is getting worse.

He should get an MRI, except he needs a referral for that, which means, unfortunately, that he has to see a doctor, since he's not allowed to refer himself. Even so, he's not likely to get said MRI done until next week. He may as well wait to see an orthopedist in New York.

But…This pain is getting quite unbearable, and short of going to a hospital, his only hope for relief would be to see someone about it now so he could at least get prescribed some stronger pain medication.

"I'll walk to the car," he decides as he takes some more ibuprofen. He's at the maximum dosage now.

"Are you sure?" Francis asks.

"Yes."

Gilbert whips out his cellphone and says, "I'll call the office and see if they can fit you in for today."

When Gilbert steps out into the hallway, Francis steadies a pitying look at Arthur and cards a hand through his sweaty hair. "Is this what you wanted? To worry me to no end? I've had enough to worry about lately."

He leans down to peck Arthur's nose with a kiss, and Arthur promptly responds by growling at him again, furious at the situation he's found himself in.

"It's going to be okay, mon cher. We'll see what the doctor says."

"I can tell you what he'll say."

"Arthur, just once, let someone else help."

Gilbert returns with good news (or bad news, in Arthur's opinion)—the orthopedist can see him today, but they need to leave immediately.

So, Arthur tries to lug himself out of bed with Gilbert and Francis's support, and they escort him to the car without injuring him further, miraculously.

"Gilbert, would you mind coming with us? I'd like to have an extra pair of hands around," Francis requests, and when Arthur opens his mouth to protest, Francis shushes him and adds, "Not another word out of you, mon amour."

Gilbert nods. "Sure! I just need to let Maddie know. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Arthur sighs. Why couldn't they allow him to suffer in the comfort of the guestroom with that hot compress and a good book?

"Hey, honeybun? I'm helping to take your dad to a doctor. I'll be back later."

They're closing up the stable when Gilbert approaches them, and Amelia feels both a flutter of worry and triumph in her chest at the news. How did they get him to agree to seek help? He must be in really bad shape.

"I'm going, too," she says, because it's not every day she gets to see Dad on the receiving end of some doctoring, and it's bound to be entertaining. "Someone needs to keep him from biting anyone's head off."

Maddie snickers in agreement. "If you're all going, so am I. It'll be like a mini family road trip."

Gilbert shrugs his shoulders, not opposed to the extra company, but Dad isn't as nonchalant about it.

As soon as he sees them hopping into the backseats, he furrows his brows and shouts, "No, I'm not having all of you go with me! Girls, go back to the house."

"Sorry, no can do," Amelia says, grinning from ear-to-ear at him. "There's no way I'm missing this."

"You can't tell us what to do anymore," Maddie chimes in.

Dad crosses his arms over his chest and grumbles, "Belligerent children."

How can Amelia not be in a good mood now? She considers clearing up some storage space on her phone so she can record everything, but she ultimately decides she'll spare Dad the humiliation this time. As amusing as this is, he's in real pain, and so, she still has sympathy for him.

Dad has the silly misconception that they're going to wait in the car for him when they get there, or, at the very least, that'll they'll sit in the waiting area. So, when he gets called into one of the exam rooms at the doctor's office and turns around to see they're all padding after him, he groans.

But really, what's family for if not to embarrass you every now and then?

And so, all five of them head into the exam room, much to Dad's chagrin.

"My sincerest apologies," he tells the medical assistant, Linda, as she's changing the paper on the exam table. "I don't know what's gotten into them today."

Linda smiles and says, "What a beautiful family. You're very lucky, Mr. Kirkland. Now, if you could just stand on the scale so I can—"

"That won't be necessary. I have a herniated disc and merely need a referral for an MRI."

Amelia rolls her eyes and knows she has to come to Linda's aid. "Don't make her job more difficult, Dad."

"If you're good, we'll take you out for ice cream later," Gilbert adds, unable to stop himself from poking fun at him just a little.

"But only if you're on your best behavior," Amelia continues.

Dad looks like he's just taken a bite out of a lemon, but he's outnumbered, so he surrenders and finally lets his height and weight be recorded. He impatiently stands on the scale and acts as though he's being held hostage.

"Okay," Linda says when she's done. "You can have a seat."

He makes a show of sitting down without Papa or Gilbert's help, and then, Linda announces, "I'm just going to take your vitals."

Dad is seething.

Amelia has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. She's never seen someone look so appalled at the idea of having their temperature and blood pressure taken. It's official—Dad is the worst patient ever.

Fortunately, Linda seems like she's fairly experienced and has dealt with horrible patients like him before. She sticks a thermometer in his mouth and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm without leaving room for protest. Nonetheless, Amelia still genuinely fears for the poor woman's safety.

"97.5 degrees Fahrenheit. Normal," Linda says cheerfully when she takes the thermometer back. Her glee only manages to irritate Dad further. "Your blood pressure is high—140 over 90. Do you have a history of hypertension?"

"No," Dad says, tight-lipped.

"I think he's just stressed," Papa explains.

She writes something in his file and says, "Okay, the doctor will see you shortly."

When she leaves, Amelia, Maddie, Gilbert, and Papa all fall victim to a contagious fit of snickers at Dad's expense. Needless to say, he isn't amused.

This was so worth it, Amelia thinks.

The doctor knocks on the door and comes in a minute later. He's around the same age as Dad, perhaps a little older, and when he takes note of how many people are in the room, he smiles and says, "The whole gang's here, huh? That's great."

He shakes Dad's hand, and before he can even ask him what's wrong, Dad says, "I have a herniated disc along with sciatica in my right leg. I'd like to be referred for an MRI."

The doctor tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you're either a physical therapist, doctor, or RN. Which one is it?"

"Emergency medicine doctor," Amelia supplies helpfully because the odds of Dad answering are slim to none.

"I see…The worst of the worst," the doctor jokes harmlessly. "Well, then, Dr. Kirkland, I have to examine you to make sure this warrants an MRI if we both want to avoid problems with the insurance company, so I'm going to have to ask you to bear with me for a couple of minutes. How long have you had pain now?"

"Seven weeks," Dad says, having the sense to at least sound a bit ashamed for not getting help sooner.

"Have you been doing any heavy lifting? Probably at work, huh?"

"That's correct."

"Where's the pain exactly?"

"Where you'd expect it to be—the lumbosacral joint, between L5 and S1."

The doctor pulls Dad's shirt up to expose his lower back, and when he presses a hand to the spot, Dad jumps.

"Yup, looks suspicious. Lie back."

Dad lies down with a small sigh of relief, as sitting up for too long seems to be difficult for him. Papa crosses the room to stand by his head and be closer to him, hoping to act as a source of comfort, but here's the thing about Dad—he hates being comforted.

"We're gonna do a leg raise test, okay? Lift your right leg up as far as you can," the doctor instructs, bracing Dad's foot and calf so he can guide him along. "Stop me when it hurts."

They all look on with growing curiosity, and then, Dad suddenly groans.

"There," he says, eyes screwed shut.

"Uh-huh," the doctor agrees before cheekily informing him, "You've got a herniated disc. Who would've thought? It's pushing up against a nerve, which is what's causing the pain down your right leg, but you already knew that, too. Where do you want to have the MRI done so I can place the order?"

"In New York," Dad says, sitting up slowly and taking an index card out of his pocket that has an address scribbled on it. He's prepared.

The doctor takes the card, types something into the computer in the room, and says, "Okay, it's done, but you'll have to wait a few days for the insurance company to approve it. They'll call you…Don't get up yet. I'll give you a steroid injection to bring the inflammation and pain down."

Dad nods, finally satisfied, and lies down again, except this time, he turns onto his stomach.

The doctor looks up at the rest of their gang and warns, "If any of you folks are needle phobic, you should head out now. This can look a little distressing. It's nothing like a flu shot."

"Francis, that means you," Dad urges, and though Papa looks like he wants to stay, he obediently exits along with Gilbert—they're both chickens when it comes to this stuff.

"I'll stay," Amelia tells Maddie because she knows her sister would probably prefer to wait outside, too. "Make sure Papa and Gilbert don't cause any trouble out there."

Maddie nods gratefully and slips away.

"The one brave soul remains," the doctor commends Amelia as he's gathering his supplies.

Dad rolls his head to the side to look at her and smirks, "You've seen worse, Amelia, haven't you?"

"Yeah, actually. I've seen you in action too many times, and now I'm just as jaded and desensitized as you are," she jokes, but she feels a pang of fear on Dad's behalf when she sees the size of the needle the doctor is prepping. "Uhh, is that gonna hurt?"

"A little, but probably not as much as that herniated disc is hurting," the doctor reassures her. "It'll help in the long-run."

"Okay…Want me to hold your hand, Dad?"

As expected, Dad shakes his head. "I'm all right, love. Thank you."

"Okay, well, I'm gonna hold it anyway," Amelia says with what she hopes is a soothing tone. She knows Dad is an expert in this and can probably handle it, but she's never had a needle put in her back, and she imagines it can't be a pleasant sensation, no matter how high someone's pain tolerance is. So, she grips Dad's right hand in her own, if only to calm herself, and watches with apprehension as the doctor sterilizes a patch of skin on Dad's lower back.

"You're going to feel a sting and some burning. Sorry in advance," the doctor says, and then, he's inserting the needle, and Amelia has to make a face because it looks like it goes in deep.

She feels Dad shudder, and he squeezes her hand, so maybe it's a good thing she's holding it after all. Since he's not in a position to argue, she dares to set her other hand on his shoulder, and it seems to relax him a little.

The doctor unscrews the syringe once it's empty so that only the needle is left behind, and then, he attaches a new syringe filled with different medication to the needle and pushes that solution in as well, causing Dad to flinch again.

"I'm sorry. Almost done," the doctor promises, switching syringes for a third and final time.

Now Amelia understands why he said this is nothing like a flu shot. It must hurt like hell.

"It's okay," she says softly when she feels Dad squeeze her hand again, and now she feels bad for teasing him earlier.

Then, it's finally over, and Dad's allowed to sit up. She lets go of his hand and inwardly vows that she'll never allow herself to get a herniated disc because that looked awful!

"It's not going to feel better right away. Give it a day or two to work. Take it easy for forty-eight hours, and then, you want to start working on increasing your range of motion. I'd suggest physical therapy, but I know you're not going to bother. You know what to do. Try some exercises and stretches at home, at the very least. It's better if you do it with someone," the doctor explains as he's cleaning up.

"Wait," Amelia interjects. "He's not getting a sticker and a lollipop? What a dud."

That makes Dad snort with laughter, which was her goal. "I think I'll manage, poppet."

"No, you're right," the doctor replies, rummaging through some drawers before finding the stash of goodies. He pulls out a cherry lollipop and a sticker in the shape of a star that says, STAR PATIENT. "Here you are—for being brave," he grins, handing them over to Dad.

Dad chuckles and dryly murmurs, "Thank you. This is just what I needed."

"Can I have the lollipop?" Amelia asks.

"Be my guest."

"Please, just spend the night and call out sick tomorrow."

"She's right, Arthur, you're in no condition to work. We can leave tomorrow morning, after you've had a good night's rest."

"I'm fine."

"That's what you always say, mon cher, and we both know it's not true."

Maddie and Papa are fighting with Dad, and if they think they're going to win like this, they're mistaken. Getting Dad to listen takes a more cunning strategy.

So, she steps into the guest bedroom and decides to show them how it's done. "Sorry, guys. Can I talk to Dad alone for a second?"

They all assume it must be something serious. Maddie and Papa leave without another word, and they shut the door behind them.

"What is it, love? Are you feeling unwell again? Having dark thoughts? Maybe you should consider taking the medication you—" he cuts himself off because, as he worriedly tries to sit up, he causes himself a great deal of pain again.

She notices the warm compress peeking out from under his back and asks, "Any better?"

"A bit," Dad says, but he's probably lying. "We're talking about you now. What's going on?"

"I'm feeling kind of nervous about having to stay here with Maddie and Gilbert," she tells him, which is true, but also misleading because of her ulterior motives.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, but if for any reason, you don't feel comfortable, your papa or I will be here to pick you up. At least try to make it through the week, okay?"

"Okay," Amelia murmurs, and here's where she has to stretch the truth. "But…I was hoping maybe you and papa could stay a little longer."

"I wish I could, but I have work in the morning, and your papa and I really should get going within the hour."

"Please?" Amelia asks, mustering some tears. If Dad has one weakness, it's the sight of tears.

"W-Well, I suppose I could call out," Dad wearily concedes, wincing a little as he shifts in bed and dislodges his compress.

Amelia puts it back in place for him. "Would you?"

"All right."

She tries not to look too victorious. "Thank you."

She gives him a quick hug, minding his injury. Then, she saunters out of the room. When she runs into Papa in the hallway, she meets his intrigued gaze and says plainly, "He's staying. You're welcome."

Nights are the worst.

There's nothing to distract her when everyone's asleep. It's just her and her thoughts, and they're vicious thoughts.

Madeline and Gilbert are gonna get sick of you. You're complicating their lives. You're a bad person.

She rolls out of bed and hopes a walk down to the kitchen will help. Downing a glass of warm milk makes her feel less hollow, but it does nothing to calm the panicky nausea in her stomach.

You're a burden. You're not doing anything productive. You're never going to get better.

Time to sit out on the porch and get some fresh air.

She opens the front door and immediately notices that it's significantly cooler outside now compared to when the sun was still up. She should've brought a sweater…

Suddenly, there's a flash of movement to her left, and she sees a shadowy figure standing a few feet away, smoking a cigarette.

She screams, caught off guard, and the other person lets out a startled noise as well.

"Bloody hell."

Well, that sure doesn't sound like a serial killer. She's in the clear.

"Dad, what are you doing out here? And why did I have to run into you of all people? I've seen enough of you today."

"I could ask you the same question, and what's that supposed to mean?" he huffs, flicking some ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?"

"I don't. I quit long before you were born."

"So, what's that in your hand?"

"A cigarette."

"Exactly. I rest my case," she says, rubbing a hand over her arm. The breeze is giving her goosebumps.

"It's chilly out. You should go inside."

"I'll be fine."

Dad scoffs. "Very well, but when you wake up with a cold, I don't want to hear about it."

"Okay," she agrees, fully knowing he's bluffing anyway. All it takes is one sneeze for him to go into mother hen mode. "Shouldn't you be resting in bed?"

"Yes, and so should you."

"What can I say? I'm a rebel and an insomniac like you."

"Something every father wants to hear," he remarks, full of sarcasm even at this time of night. He coughs a little and gestures to the cigarette. "This isn't nearly as enjoyable as it used to be."

"Doctors shouldn't smoke, you know. It sets a bad example."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't smoke, then."

He can be so…so…ugh! How does Papa put up with him?

"Did you hope it would somehow help with your back?" she asks, referring to the cigarette again.

"No, I had hoped it would help with other matters."

"Such as?"

"Everything," he says, and Amelia knows exactly what he means even though he's acting weird and cryptic. "You didn't have to coerce me into staying, but I appreciate that you've been concerned."

How'd he find out? Well, it doesn't matter now.

"Yeah, I had to. Otherwise, you would've gone to work and dropped in a heap on the unit, and then who would diagnose the patients?"

Dad gives up on the cigarette and puts it out. "I have it under control."

"You know, that's what I thought before I started feeling depressed and suicidal," she counters, and she wishes she could take it back. That was one step too far.

She can feel Dad staring at her through the darkness, and for a long minute, he doesn't say a word. Until finally, he clears his throat and mumbles, "I'm afraid your knack for rebellion and insomnia aren't the only attributes we share."

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

Dad draws in a deep breath and says, "I, uhh, struggled as well...for quite a while."

Oh.

She stands closer to him and wonders if maybe she's dreaming this, but somehow, she's pretty sure she's awake. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

Dad slumps forward a little and picks something up from a small table behind him. It's another hot pack. He presses it to his back and murmurs, "I was eighteen. My adolescence was…less than ideal. I was harassed at school and didn't have many friends, and so, I was quite isolated. My home life wasn't much better. Growing up with three elder brothers and a single mother who was often overworked and overwhelmed didn't exactly create a healthy environment, as you can imagine. I was, by all measures, a textbook example of a troubled teen."

He turns over the now useless cigarette in his free hand and sighs as he tosses it into an abandoned ashtray on that little table. It probably hasn't been used in years and just serves as a decoration now. "I…I didn't see a purpose in living anymore. One day after school, I went to my mother's bedroom and overdosed on her doxylamine, which she was taking as a sleep aid. I don't remember exactly how much I took, but it was lethal."

"Oh, my god," Amelia says before she can stop herself. She can't imagine Dad ever doing anything like that, even as a teenager.

"My brother, Alistair, found me. I didn't know he was home…He called for help right away, thankfully. I spent a week in the hospital and then another three weeks in-patient on a psychiatric unit."

"That must've been terrible."

"It was."

"Why didn't you tell me this when…you know?"

Dad shrugs outs of his robe and drapes it over her shoulders, and that's when Amelia realizes she's been shivering. It's warm and makes her feel safe.

"No one wants to hear their parent lecture them about how they've been through something similar. You would have thought I was trying to diminish the importance of your own emotions."

"I wouldn't have thought that."

"Ah, yes, so if during our phone call, I had said, 'Oi, Amelia, when I was a young lad, I was depressed,' and so on, you wouldn't have been the least bit annoyed?"

"Okay, maybe a little."

"Mmm, that's what I thought."

"So, why did you tell me now?"

"I thought you were ready to hear it…I know you may not believe me, but it gets better, truly. Not right away, of course."

Tears pool in her eyes—real tears this time.

Dad hugs her, and although it's just one of the thousands of hugs he has given her over the course of her life, this one feels different—more important. "I love you, and you matter to me. You know that, yes?"

"Yeah," she whispers, and an ugly sob escapes her throat. "I don't want to feel like this anymore…"

He nods sympathetically and presses a kiss into her hair. "I know…Try to get some rest."

She dries her face and gets her breathing under control again. For some odd reason, she feels better. She needed a good cry. "Look who's talking…Be kinder to your back. You heard what the doctor said…And don't smoke anymore! I don't want you getting lung cancer or emphysema."

Dad chuckles. "Okay, love."

Together, they walk back into the house, and she gives him his robe back.

"Do you need help getting up the stairs?" she asks.

"If I made it down, I can make it up."

"I'm not sure that's how it works. "

"We'll find out soon, won't we?" he jokes, but sure enough, he makes it to the top of the staircase without too much trouble. That medication he was given earlier must be kicking in.

Or maybe he just has a strong backbone.

She gets it from someone.