The Call
When the call came, Ethan almost didn’t pick up.
His father’s name flashed on the screen — a name he hadn’t spoken in years. The silence between them had grown into something vast and heavy. But something in his chest tightened, and before he could think, his thumb swiped across the screen.
“Ethan?”
The voice was softer than he remembered, thinner. And before his father could say anything more, the line went dead.
The Road Back
The drive back felt like stepping into a memory.
Fields rolled by in waves of amber and jade, the same quiet towns, the same long stretches of road. But the house — the house had changed.
Paint flaked from the shutters. The porch sagged. It was like the place had been waiting, holding its breath.
He knocked.
“You came.”
His father’s face was gaunt, but the eyes were the same — sharp and blue and filled with something Ethan couldn’t name.
What Was Left Unsaid
They moved around each other like strangers.
“You’ve been busy,” his father said over dinner.
“Yeah.”
The silence stretched.
In the living room, the clock ticked — a steady reminder of all the things they hadn’t said.
“Your mother would’ve been proud.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
“Why did you call me, Dad?”
The Letter
It was waiting on his bed — an envelope with his name in familiar handwriting.
I know I haven’t been the father you needed.
I was angry. At the world. At myself. But never at you.
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t get the chance to say it in person.
I’m sorry.
The Sunrise
The next morning, Ethan found his father on the porch, watching the sky bloom with light.
“I read it.”
The older man’s hands tightened on the railing.
“It’s not too late,” Ethan said softly.
And for the first time in years, his father smiled.
