“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
He looked at the floor.
“I only wanted you to know I finally read every letter you ever wrote me.”
I remembered those letters.
Every Father’s Day.
Every birthday.
Every Christmas.
Letters begging him to notice me.
He continued quietly.
“I didn’t deserve them.”
We stood in silence.
Finally I spoke.
“I believe people can regret what they did.”
He nodded.
“But regret doesn’t erase consequences.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to be my father again simply because you’re sorry.”
Tears rolled down his face.
“I understand.”
I accepted the box.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Sometimes healing doesn’t mean reopening the door.
Sometimes healing means closing it gently instead of slamming it.
A year later, I attended a charity event supporting living organ donors.
