Mercy Instead of Betrayal
I turned to Claire.
“Why did Gabriella call him that?”
Claire smiled through her tears.
“She heard him say, ‘I used to be your daddy’s daddy.’ She got confused.”
Despite everything, a sad laugh escaped me.
My father looked at me.
“I never asked Claire to keep me hidden. I told her I would leave before you came home.”
“Where would you go?”
He looked down.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, I noticed the medication sitting on a small table beside him.
The folded clothes.
The bowl of soup.
The clean blanket.
Claire had not betrayed me.
She had shown compassion where I no longer had any left.
The First Dinner Together
Without another word, I walked upstairs.
Claire followed me into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you.”
“Yes,” I replied. “You should have.”
She nodded as tears slipped down her cheeks again.
“But you also did something kind,” I added quietly.
Her expression softened.
I glanced toward Gabriella’s room.
She was humming to herself, completely unaware that her innocent question had reopened a wound I had buried for half my life.
That evening, I brought my father upstairs.
For the first time, he sat at our dinner table.
Gabriella climbed into the chair beside him.
“Are you Daddy’s daddy?”
He smiled weakly.
“Yes, sweetheart. I am.”
“Then you’re my grandpa,” she said proudly.
My father covered his mouth, trying not to cry.
