Chapter 11
Gwen didn’t remember exactly how far she’d run. Just that her legs ached and her breath stung in her throat. She’d torn off the Ghost-Spider mask somewhere in the chaos, letting the wind sting her face, her cheeks hot with tears and sweat. Her feet had carried her to the edge of a quiet rooftop in Queens, where no one could see her. She dropped to her knees, finally letting it hit her—everything.
Her dad was gone.
And she’d been the one to fail him.
She curled in on herself, gripping her arms tight like they could hold her together. The whole city could collapse around her and she wouldn’t move. She deserved to feel this. To drown in it. The weight in her chest felt unbearable, suffocating.
Until she heard footsteps behind her.
“Gwen,” a soft voice said.
Her head jerked up.
Miles.
“No—no, please,” she whispered, stumbling backward, her voice cracking. “Not now, I can’t—”
“I’m not leaving,” he said gently, taking a cautious step closer. “You can push me, scream at me, whatever you want. But I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
She tried to speak again, but her throat closed up. Her shoulders started to shake as she clutched her stomach, trying not to fall apart again.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she sobbed out. “Why weren’t you there?”
He looked down. “I was on my way. I swear, Gwen. I didn’t know—I didn’t think—”
“I was alone,” she whispered, bitter. “I always am. And I—he died, Miles. I watched it happen. I couldn’t stop it.”
She was full-on crying now, chest-heaving, ugly crying, and Miles just stepped forward and pulled her into him, arms wrapping tight around her shaking form. Gwen didn’t resist. She collapsed into him like she had nothing left, because maybe she didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said again and again into his chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I should’ve—”
“You don’t have to say sorry,” Miles murmured, holding her tighter. “You don’t. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to mess up. And you don’t have to do this alone.”
She clung to his shirt like it was the only solid thing left in her world. “It’s my fault. If I was faster or stronger or—he wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t—”
“Don’t,” Miles said firmly, but softly. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”
“But he was my dad, and I—” she hiccupped, “—I couldn’t save him.”
Miles pressed a kiss into her hair and didn’t let go. “Then I’ll save you,” he whispered.
And in that moment, despite the ache in her chest and the guilt in her soul, Gwen felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t broken beyond repair.
The dorm room was dark except for the golden light seeping through the closed curtains. It painted soft shadows across the floor, over the crumpled blanket Gwen sat under, legs tucked to her chest on the edge of the bed. Miles was next to her, one hand resting lightly over hers, the other fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. Neither of them had spoken much since they'd gotten back. They didn’t need to.
He was there. That was enough.
Gwen rested her head on his shoulder, her thoughts heavy and quiet. The numbness from earlier was slowly giving way to something else—a slow-burning sadness that settled in her bones. Her father was gone. And somehow, she was still standing.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sharp vibration in the stillness.
Gwen didn’t move.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
She sighed shakily and reached for it, her fingers brushing over Miles's. When she saw the caller ID—Mom—her chest tightened.
“Gwen?” her mom’s voice came through immediately, cracked and broken. “Did you hear? Did you—?”
“I did,” Gwen said, voice low. “I was there.”
“Oh, Gwen—” a sob caught on the other end. “I just—I didn’t know if you were okay. I didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m okay,” she lied.
Miles squeezed her hand.
There was a pause on the other end before her mom asked, “Can you come home?”
Gwen closed her eyes. The request wasn't surprising, but it still hit hard. Going home meant facing the truth. The empty chair at the dinner table. The echo in the hall where her dad's laugh used to be.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”
Her mom said something else, but Gwen couldn’t quite hear it—just the sound of her soft crying before the call dropped. The silence that followed felt louder than anything else.
Miles watched her closely. “You don’t have to go alone.”
Gwen gave him a tired smile. “Thanks. But I think I need to.”
She stood, slowly pulling herself together, slipping on her hoodie and boots with movements that felt mechanical. Her fingers shook slightly as she zipped her coat.
Miles got up, helping her gather her things. “Want me to walk you to the subway?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I’d like that.”
As they walked down the hall, her fingers brushed against his, unsure if she deserved to hold his hand after everything. But he reached first, lacing their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked as they neared the entrance.
Gwen took a breath, staring out at the soft gray morning outside.
“No,” she admitted. “But I’m going anyway.”
And with that, she stepped into the cold air, ready—or at least trying—to face what was waiting for her at home.
The moment Gwen stepped through the front door of her childhood home, the air felt heavier. It smelled like old coffee, floral-scented candles, and a grief so thick she could almost taste it. The hallway light was off, but the living room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor. Gwen hadn’t even taken a full step inside when she heard the soft, uneven weeping.
Her mom.
She followed the sound into the living room and found her mother curled into the armchair, wrapped in her dad’s flannel coat. The television was still on, but muted—playing the same news loop Gwen had already seen more times than she could count. Ghost-Spider. Hero or menace. Officer George Stacy. Fallen in the line of duty.
“Mom?” Gwen said quietly.
Her mother looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t heard the door. Her face was blotchy and red, eyes puffy from crying, and when she saw Gwen, she tried to sit up straighter—but only managed a weak sort of nod before crumbling again.
“Oh, Gwen,” she whispered. “He’s gone.”
Gwen moved across the room and knelt at her mother’s side, wrapping her arms around her. “I know.”
Her mother clung to her, fingers twisted in Gwen’s coat like she was afraid Gwen might vanish too. For a long while, they didn’t speak. Just the sound of soft sobs and a television news ticker flashing words Gwen refused to read.
Then her mom whispered something.
“It’s her fault.”
Gwen froze.
Her mom didn’t let go. “That masked girl. That Ghost-Spider. It’s her fault, Gwen. She should have known better. She should have waited. She wasn’t ready. She—” Her voice broke. “She got your father killed.”
Gwen felt her stomach twist, nausea crawling up her throat.
“She did everything wrong,” her mom continued, more frantic now. “She jumped in like she could handle it, like she was some kind of real hero. But she’s just a stupid girl playing pretend. And now my husband is dead because of her.”
Gwen’s fingers dug into the fabric of the coat. Her breath hitched in her chest, but she said nothing.
She couldn’t.
If she opened her mouth now, she’d scream. She’d confess. She’d fall apart.
But her mom was still sobbing, clutching her tightly, unaware of how her words stabbed through Gwen’s heart like shards of glass.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen whispered.
Her mother didn’t hear her. “She should’ve stayed out of it. That Spider-Man—he’s been doing this for longer. He would’ve handled it. But she had to prove herself, didn’t she? And now George is gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said again, louder this time.
This time, her mom paused—eyes glassy, but tired. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey. It’s not your fault.”
But it was.
Gwen stood slowly, trembling as she made her way upstairs. The house felt too quiet, too unfamiliar now. She stepped into her old room, the posters faded and untouched. She sat on the bed and finally let the tears fall.
She didn’t cry like a hero.
She cried like a daughter.
The moonlight slipped through the blinds of Gwen’s childhood bedroom, casting silvery lines over the floor and her curled-up form on the bed. Her dad’s old flannel was still clutched tightly in her hands, even though it smelled less like him and more like dust and old wood. She hadn’t moved in hours. Her mom had long since gone to bed after crying herself into silence, but Gwen remained wide awake.
She couldn’t sleep. Not after everything. Not with the weight of her mom’s words echoing in her head like cruel ghosts: She got your father killed.
A gentle tap on the window stirred her. Gwen sat up abruptly, wiping her swollen eyes and stepping toward the glass. Her breath hitched when she saw the familiar silhouette crouched on the other side.
Miles.
She blinked hard, once, then opened the window slowly.
“You’re gonna get caught,” she whispered.
He just gave her a sad half-smile. “You left your dorm window locked. I figured this was the next best place to check.”
She stepped aside without a word and let him in. He climbed through easily, his hood falling back. His curls were a little flattened from the mask, and there were faint circles under his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Gwen looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and her expression crumbled the second she met his gaze.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Miles said softly.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” she admitted.
“I’m not leaving.”
She shook her head, trying to hold herself together. “Miles, my mom—she thinks Ghost-Spider killed him. She doesn’t even know it was me, and still—it’s like—” Her voice cracked. “It’s like she hates me. If she knew the truth, she’d never look at me again.”
Miles stepped closer, cupping her face gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
“Then let me be here for you,” he said. “Let me be the one who knows. Let me carry that with you.”
She closed her eyes, breathing in the steadiness of his voice. “I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop blaming myself.”
“You don’t have to stop,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to do it alone either.”
Gwen broke.
She lunged forward and buried herself in his chest, sobbing hard into the fabric of his hoodie. Miles wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight like she was fragile glass he was determined not to let break. His hand stroked the back of her hair, slow and calming.
“I miss him,” she choked out. “I keep waiting for him to knock on the door. For him to say it’s okay. That I didn’t mess everything up.”
“You didn’t,” Miles said, kissing the top of her head. “You didn’t mess anything up. He’d be proud of you. I know he would.”
They sat together in the quiet, wrapped in each other like armor against the world.
And for the first time in days, Gwen felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t completely alone.