“May I come in?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. I stepped aside, letting him walk through the door. He moved slowly, inspecting everything as though he were a judge on some reality show.
His gaze lingered on the hardwood floors Lucas had installed, the family photos lining the walls, and the corner where the triplets’ toys were neatly stacked. His face was unreadable, but his silence was deafening. Then he turned to me, shaking his head.
“Oh, no! What have you done?” His voice cracked, his despair unmistakable. “You’re not struggling!”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“No, we’re not,” I replied, my tone steady. “We’ve built a good life here.”
He stared at me, his jaw tightening. “You could’ve had more.
You still can. Come with me, Lily. Bring the children.
I can give them opportunities you’ll never be able to.”
Lucas’ hand tensed on my back, but I held my ground. “They already have everything they need. Love, stability, and parents who worked hard to build a home for them.
We don’t need anything else.”
My father’s face hardened. “You’ll regret this,” he said coldly. But there was something else there too—pain.
My father’s face darkened as my words hung in the air. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out. I stood frozen, watching him march to his car.
He yanked the door open and sank into the driver’s seat, slamming it shut. I waited for the engine to roar to life, for him to peel out of the driveway and disappear again. But the car didn’t move.
Minutes passed, then an hour, and then another. From the window, I could see him through the windshield, his head in his hands. He wasn’t angry.
He looked… broken. “What’s he doing?” Lucas asked softly, standing beside me with one of the triplets perched on his hip. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
The sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the yard. Finally, after three long hours, my father stepped out of the car. He moved slowly, his shoulders slumped in a way I’d never seen before.
When he reached the door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the wood before finally knocking. I opened the door to a man who looked nothing like the father I’d grown up with. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes red and raw.
“I was wrong,” he said, his voice trembling. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was push you away.”
I swallowed hard, my own tears threatening to spill. “Dad…”
“I thought you were throwing your life away,” he continued, his voice breaking.
“But I was blind. You’ve built something beautiful, something I should have been proud of from the start.”
And then he broke. The man who had always seemed larger than life crumbled before me, sobbing in a way I’d never imagined.
Without thinking, I reached for him, pulling him into a hug. “I missed you,” I whispered. For the first time in years, we talked.
Really talked. He apologized—over and over—for his pride, his mistakes, the years we’d lost. And I forgave him.
As the triplets toddled in, giggling and curious, he knelt down, his eyes wide with wonder. “Hi there,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Grandpa?” one of them asked, and he nodded, tears falling freely.
“Yes,” he choked out, smiling through the sobs. “Grandpa’s here now.”
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