When Elizabeth was just six years old, my beloved wife passed away. Nothing was ever quite the same after that. At her funeral, I promised my wife I would look after our daughter and love her for the both of us for as long as I lived.
My Elizabeth grew into a wise and thoughtful young woman. She studied hard, helped me about the house, and cooked delicious meals just as her mother once didmeals so scrumptious one couldnt help but lick their lips. In time, Elizabeth went off to university in London. Her marks werent quite as impressive after that, but I paid it no mind, for she worked alongside her studies and still managed to help me about the house.
Later on, Elizabeth met William, and not long after, introduced him to me. He seemed a decent enough sort, and I was over the moon when the two of them said they wished to live with me after their wedding. Yet, after that day, things took a turn. My new son-in-law became rude and sharp-tongued, never missing a chance to raise his voice at me.
So, when my daughter suggested that we sell our little two-bedroom cottage and buy a spacious flat in London, I gave but one condition: the flat must be registered in my own name. As expected, my son-in-law protested angrily, claiming I didnt trust him. But I was honest and open about it. I said, I need some assurance that I shant find myself homeless in my old age. When Im gone, the place will be yours to do with as you please.
Within two days, Elizabeth and her husband packed their things and, amidst a cascade of insults, moved away to the city. After that, it seemed as though Elizabeth had forgotten about me altogether, yet deep down, I still hoped my daughter would come to understand my reasons and perhaps forgive me for standing my ground.
A few months after our quarrel came my sixtieth birthday. I was certain Elizabeth would come and surprise me, so I cleaned the entire house, cooked all her favourite dishes, put on my best suit, and sat down at the table. All day I waited, peering out the window for any sign of her, hoping to see the gate swing open with Elizabeth finally there.
I sat waiting well into the evening before at last changing out of my suit and heading to bed, leaving all the food untouched on the table. I cried, speaking quietly to my wifes photograph, and cannot recall when I finally drifted off to sleep. Was my daughter truly so hurt that she could not even bring herself to call, even on my birthday? Or had something dreadful happened to her? No, surely my Elizabeth could never forget her old father so completelyA faint rapping on the door startled me awake in the early hours, thin dawn light just beginning to seep through the curtains. Groggy and uncertain whether I was still dreaming, I shuffled down the hall, heart thumping. As I opened the door, a rush of cool air swept insideand there stood Elizabeth. Her hair was bedraggled, face streaked with tears, but her eyes glistened with a familiar tenderness Id feared lost.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around me and shook with quiet sobs. I held her, old bones stiff but heart flooded with relief and gratitude.
Im sorry, Papa, she whispered. I should have come sooner. You were right to protect yourselfits what Mum would have wanted. I was so angry before, but when the birthday came and I saw the empty chair at my own table, I realized what Id done.
She handed me a small, battered box tied with frayed ribbon. Inside was a faded photograph of the three of us, taken years ago in the gardenElizabeth perched on my shoulders, my wife laughing beside us.
I want to come home, she said quietly, hope trembling in her voice. Not just for today, but for as long as you’ll have me.
The sorrow of all those lonely months melted away, replaced by a warmth as golden and new as the dawn. Together, we cleared the cold dishes from the night before and sat down to tea, the steam curling softly between us. Outside, somewhere unseen, robins sang, and for the first time in a long time, our home brimmed once again with the promise of forgiveness, and of love enduring beyond loss.
