When Dad Is: Away Ii Kenzie Taylor

Kenzie Taylor knew it well. The long-haul flights, the hotel keys piling up in his nightstand drawer, the voicemails he’d leave at odd hours— “Hey, kiddo, just landed in Singapore. Tell your brother to behave.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of small, sharp things: Mom humming too loudly in the kitchen, the dryer squeaking because Dad wasn’t there to fix it, and the way the stairs didn’t creak at 6:15 PM when he came home from work.

She smiled, then hated how much she needed the words.

That night, she texted Dad: Router fixed. You’re welcome.

And for the first time in three weeks, the house’s heartbeat felt just right again. When Dad Is Away Ii Kenzie Taylor

The third week, a storm rolled in. Not the gentle spring rain kind, but the kind that rattled windows and made the power flicker. Mom lit candles. Kenzie’s little brother, Leo, climbed into her bed without asking. She let him. Outside, wind tore through the oaks Dad had planted the year she was born. Inside, Kenzie held Leo’s hand and counted between thunderclaps.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

Kenzie didn’t call. Instead, she crawled under the desk, unplugged every cord, then plugged them back in one by one. The light turned green. She stood up, dusted off her knees, and said nothing. Kenzie Taylor knew it well

Kenzie leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a small smile on her face. “I did.”

It did. It felt too big.

Kenzie was seventeen. Old enough to drive, young enough to still feel the weight of a missing parent like a stone in her shoe. It was full of small, sharp things: Mom

She didn’t text Dad. She didn’t want him to worry from half a world away. Instead, she whispered to Leo, “We’re the backup crew, remember? We’ve got this.”

The house had a different heartbeat when Dad was gone.