When my estranged father, who left 20 years ago, called from his deathbed, I was torn between anger and curiosity. His final wish was something I never expected, and what he revealed about his disappearance shattered everything I thought I knew. I was getting ready for bed when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
The number was unfamiliar, so I let it go to voicemail.
Not even a minute later, a text came through: “ALICE, THIS IS YOUR DAD. PLEASE CALL, I AM IN THE HOSPITAL.”
My heart stopped.
Dad? After twenty years?
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the message.
Part of me wanted to delete it and forget, but curiosity won. I called the number back. “Hello?” The voice was weak, barely audible.
“Dad?”
“Alice, it’s me.
I… I don’t have much time.”
“Why are you calling now?” My voice was harsher than I intended. “I need to explain… to ask something of you.
But please, don’t tell your mother.”
There it was, the same secrecy that defined my childhood. “What do you want?”
He took a shaky breath.
“I left because your grandfather, Harold, paid me to disappear.
He hated me, thought I was a failure. He found someone else for your mom, someone better.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Grandpa?
He did that?”
“Yes.
I was struggling back then. Addictions, bad decisions.
Your grandfather saw a chance to get rid of me, and I took the money.”
“So you just left us for money?” Anger bubbled up. “I know it sounds awful.
But I invested that money, built a business.
It was all for you, Alice. To secure your future.”
“Why didn’t you ever come back?”
“Part of the deal. I couldn’t approach you or your mom.
But I was there, watching.
I saw your graduation, your volleyball games. I was always there, just… from a distance.”
I felt like my world was tilting.
“Why didn’t Mom ever tell me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want you to hate him.
Or maybe she thought she was protecting you.”
“What do you want now?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I need to see you, Alice. One last time before I go. I’m at St.
Mary’s Hospital.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Could I face him after everything? “Please, Alice.
It’s my dying wish.”
The line went silent, and I sat there, the phone still in my hand, my thoughts tumbling. Should I go?
What would I even say to him?
I needed to think, but there was no time. He was dying. The next morning, I called in sick to work and sat in my kitchen, staring at my coffee.
Should I tell Mom?
But he’d asked me not to. I called my best friend, Jen.
“Hey, can we talk?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
“It’s… it’s my dad.
He called last night.”
“Your dad?
The one who left?”
“Yeah. He’s dying, and he wants to see me.”
“Wow. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know.
Angry, confused.
He told me things, Jen. About my Grandpa.”
“Like what?”
“That my grandfather paid him to leave.
He said he was there at my graduation, my games. But he couldn’t approach us.”
“That’s insane.
What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.
He wants me to visit him, but I’m not sure I can.”
Jen was silent for a moment. “Maybe you should go. Get some answers.
Closure.”
“I guess.
But I don’t know if I’m ready to face him.”
“Take your time, but don’t take too long. If he’s dying…”
“I know.
Thanks, Jen.”
After hanging up, I sat back, deep in thought. Jen was right.
Maybe I did need closure.
I couldn’t keep living with these unanswered questions. And if he really was dying… I had to see him. I decided to go to the hospital.
As I drove, memories of my childhood flashed through my mind.
The good times before he left, the confusion and pain afterward. The way Mom never spoke about him, the unanswered questions that haunted me.
I walked into the hospital room, feeling the weight of years and unanswered questions pressing down on me. The beeping machines filled the stark room with an unsettling rhythm.
My dad lay in the bed, looking more frail than I had ever imagined.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, a weak smile forming on his lips. “Alice,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Hi, Dad.” I stood at the foot of the bed, not sure what to say.
Anger and confusion swirled inside me, but seeing him like this, so vulnerable, made it hard to voice them.
“You came,” he said, relief evident in his eyes. “I had to.
I needed to understand why.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry for everything.” He reached out a trembling hand, and I took it, feeling the cold, fragile skin. “Why did you do it, Dad?
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
