You didn’t say anything when you got in the car — just slammed the door shut, yanked your hoodie over your head, and stared straight ahead.

Damiano glanced over at you, fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. He could already tell something was wrong. Again.

“Same group?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. “Do I need to call the school again?”

Still nothing.

The silence between you felt like a weight, until finally you whispered, “I wanna leave.”

His hand froze on the keys. He turned to face you, brow furrowed.

“You mean—?”

“I wanna switch schools,” you said, voice cracking. “I can’t keep doing this. I don’t care if it’s dramatic. I just… I can’t.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you — really looked — like he was trying to read between all the words you hadn’t said out loud. The ones about the nasty rumors, the shoved books, the way people stared at you in the hall like you didn’t belong there.

After a moment, he reached over, gently tugging your hoodie down so he could see your face.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice firm but kind. “This isn’t you giving up. This is you surviving. And I’m proud of you for saying something.”

Your lip trembled.

“I just wanted to fit in.”

He leaned over, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Screw fitting in. You were never meant to blend into the background. You’re mine daughter, remember? Loud, weird, brilliant… just like your old man.”

You gave a shaky laugh, and he smiled, pulling you into a one-armed hug across the console.

“We’ll look at new schools tonight,” he promised. “And I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is be brave for a little while longer, yeah?”