“Dad, just give me your flatyouve already had your life.” With those words, his daughter slammed the door behind her.
He lived alone. Ever since his wife left, loneliness wrapped around him like a thick, black shroud. Everything felt grey. Nothing brought him joy anymorenot sunny days, not a strong cup of tea in the morning, not even the old films that used to make the whole family laugh. Work was his only anchor in this world. As long as he had the strength, he went, because at home, the silence was unbearable. It rang in his ears and cut straight through his heart.
The days blurred together, each one the same as the lastmorning, bus, work, home, shadows on the walls, empty evenings. His son and daughter visited less and less, barely part of his life anymore. Their calls were short, just polite check-ins. Then they stopped answering altogether. He wandered the streets for hours, scanning strangers faces, hoping to find something familiar. Old age didnt scare himdying alone did.
He could feel himself fading inside. His soul ached, shrinking with every passing day. He thought about his wifehe wanted to apologise but could never bring himself to dial her number. He still loved her. He wished hed said so many things.
Then, one day, his daughter showed up at his door. He was as happy as a child. He baked her favourite biscuits, made tea, pulled out old photo albumshe wanted to relive the good old days. But that wasnt why shed come.
“Dad,” she said, her voice icy, “youre living alone in a four-bedroom place. Its not fair. Sell it. You could buy a small flat for yourself and give me the rest of the money.”
He couldnt believe his ears. He thought she was joking, waiting for her to laugh. But there wasnt a hint of humour in her eyes.
“I I wont sell. This is my home your childhood room is here, this is where I lived with your mum”
“Youve had your time!” she snapped. “I need that money more than you do! Youre on your ownwhy do you need so much space?”
“When will you come back?” he whispered, barely recognising his own voice.
She glanced at him, indifferent, slipping on her shoes. “At your funeral.”
The door slammed. He stood frozen. Then collapsed to the floor. Pain hammered in his chest. He lay there for three days. No food, no strength, no hope. Finally, he called his son.
“Michael, please come I dont feel right,” he begged.
His son listened. Silence followed. Then, coolly: “Dad, dont take this the wrong way, but that big flats no use to you anymore. Im saving for a caryou could help me out Id visit if you decided to sell.”
Then, silence. The kind that echoes in your ears and leaves a hole in your soul. He hung up. Realised he no longer had children. Just strangers who shared his blood.
The next day, he went into a chemist. By chance, he bumped into his ex-wifes brother. The man looked surprised but nodded at him.
“Hows Anna?” he asked.
“She moved to Italy,” the man replied shortly. “Married an Italian. Found her happiness.”
“Found her happiness” The words burned. He wasnt against her happiness. He was just drowning in his own emptiness.
The next morning, he woke with a weight in his chest. Outside, the sky hung low and heavy. He pulled on his coat and stepped out. Walked a few streets. Found an old bench in a courtyard. Sat down. Closed his eyes. His heart gave one last, painful beat.
His soul, tired of pain, tired of indifference, tired of silence, finally roseto a place where no one betrays you. Where no one asks for your last penny. Where maybe, just maybe, someone would say to him again, “Dad, I missed you”
But that place wasnt here anymore.
