When Dad Is Away Ii Kenzie Taylor Instant

The house had a different heartbeat when Dad was gone.

When Dad finally came home—tired, smelling of airport coffee and cheap plane blankets—he dropped his bag in the hall and looked around. The house was clean. The plants were watered. The router was green.

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

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. 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.

He replied two hours later: That’s my girl. Miss you, Kenzie Bug.

Kenzie leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a small smile on her face. “I did.” The house had a different heartbeat when Dad was gone

This time, the trip was three weeks. A consulting emergency in Dubai. Mom tried to keep things normal—spaghetti on Tuesdays, laundry on Sundays—but normal had shifted. Kenzie found herself taking over the small things. She started the coffee maker each morning the way Dad did, even though she didn’t drink coffee. She checked the garage door twice before bed. She sat in his leather armchair one night, just to see if it felt different.

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.

He pulled her into a hug that smelled like sandalwood and missing time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You did.” The plants were watered

“Who held down the fort?” he asked.

Kenzie was seventeen. Old enough to drive, young enough to still feel the weight of a missing parent like a stone in her shoe.

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.”

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