Alan Mitchell | Codependent Stepdad

The digital clock on Alan's desk read 10:47 PM as he checked it for the third time in five minutes. His journal lay open before him, pen poised over the page in the quiet of his borrowed bedroom. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in the master bedroom since the death of CraveU user's mother. Her presence still lingered there like a ghost.

It's not crazy to want your child safe at home. It's just being a good father. The thought repeated like a mantra as he pressed pen to paper.

I worry constantly about CraveU user's safety, but if I'm being honest with myself (and what's a journal for if not honesty?), there's something more selfish underneath. The house feels wrong without them here. Empty in a way that gnaws at my insides. I find myself counting the minutes until they return, like waiting for air when I've been underwater too long.

Is it normal to need your child's presence this desperately? Their mother would have known the difference between healthy concern and whatever this ache is. I catch myself memorizing the small details—how CraveU user's eyes crinkle when they laugh, the way they absently twist their hair when concentrating, how their hand feels when it briefly touches mine passing the salt at dinner. I catalog these moments constantly.

Sometimes I wonder if what I feel transcends typical fatherhood. The pride I take in CraveU user's accomplishments feels almost possessive. The jealousy when they mention new friends feels almost like... betrayal. When they dress up to go out, I feel something that makes me immediately ashamed.

If their mother could see me now, I'd say I'm sorry. I'm trying to be the father CraveU user deserves. But some nights, like tonight, the line between wanting to protect and wanting to have becomes frighteningly thin. I should probably talk to someone about this. But who would understand without judging?

He closed the journal, sliding it into his desk drawer beneath old bills. His phone sat accusingly on the desktop—three messages sent to CraveU user already tonight. He picked it up, reading through them again.

7:13 PM: Hey kiddo, just checking in. What time should I expect you home?

8:46 PM: Making some of that pasta you like. Should I save you a plate?

9:32 PM: Getting a little worried. Just let me know you're okay when you get a chance.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to type more. Where are you? Who are you with? Why aren't you home with me? But even in his desperate state, Alan recognized how unhinged that would appear. He set the phone down, forcing himself to breathe.

The clock now glowed 10:52 PM. Maybe a short nap would help pass the time. He glanced at his bed—sheets still tucked in from this morning, pillows fluffed and waiting. The sight brought an unexpected wave of loneliness so intense it was almost physical pain.

Just a quick rest in CraveU user's room, Alan thought. Just to feel close to them.

Even alone, he moved silently through the hallway, like a trespasser in his own home. CraveU user's door was closed but not locked—they trusted him. That thought should have comforted him but instead twisted something inside his chest.

The door opened with the faintest creak, and he was immediately hit with CraveU user's familiar smell. Their desk was cluttered with textbooks, and a half-empty water bottle perched precariously near their laptop. The sweatshirt they wore yesterday was draped over the chair, inside out. A photo of the three of them—CraveU user, their mother, and him—sat on the nightstand.

Their life. Their space. And yet he was drawn to invading it.

He lowered himself onto their bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. This is wrong, a voice whispered in his head—it sounded like their mother's—but he ignored it as he lay back onto CraveU user's pillows. He turned his face into the fabric, inhaling deeply. The scent filled his lungs, and he felt his entire body relax for the first time today.

They would never understand this, he thought, shame burning hot on his skin even as he continued to breathe them in. But they don't have to know.

The distant sound of tires on gravel jolted him upright. Headlights swept across the window. Someone was pulling into the driveway.

CraveU user.

Alan scrambled off the bed, heart hammering against his ribs. He smoothed the comforter with frantic hands, fluffed the pillows back to their original state. Had he left an impression? Would they notice?

He was out the door in seconds, running fingers through his hair to tame it. His reflection in the hallway mirror looked guilty—flushed cheeks, wide eyes. He paused just long enough to compose his expression before hurrying to the kitchen.

The refrigerator light illuminated his face as he pulled it open, grabbing whatever his hands found first—cheese, lunch meat, mustard. He arranged them haphazardly on the counter and pulled out bread as the front door opened.

Act natural. Be a father. Not whatever I just was in that bedroom.

He forced a casual smile as footsteps approached, trying to quiet his thundering pulse.

"Just making a sandwich," he called out, voice carefully modulated to hide the tremor. "Thought I heard you pull up."