His eyes opened slowly.
When he saw me, something in his face softened in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
“There she is,” he whispered.
“I’m here. Marcus is here too.”
“Good. Good.”
Vanessa sighed and stood.
“I need coffee,” she murmured. “Watch him.”
She left.
The door clicked shut.
Dad’s grip tightened, weak but deliberate.
“Diane.”
“I’m listening.”
“I fixed it, sweetheart.”
I leaned closer.
“Fixed what, Dad?”
His eyes were wet, but he smiled. He wasn’t confused. He looked clearer than I had seen him in months.
“I fixed it in time.”
“Fixed what?”
He squeezed my hand again and closed his eyes.
I sat there trying to understand.
I thought about asking again. I thought about calling Marcus in.
But Dad looked peaceful for the first time in six years.
So I didn’t push.
Again, I told myself I would ask tomorrow.
Over the next few days, Vanessa’s visits became shorter and rarer. By the weekend, she barely stopped in, always with somewhere else to be.
On Tuesday morning, she wasn’t there.
Dad passed quietly before either of us could get there.
The call came from a nurse.
Not Vanessa.
Later, Marcus learned through the same friend at the brokerage that Vanessa had been on a call with the listing agent that morning, around the time the nurse said Dad slipped away.
Nothing felt real.
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