“My grandfather met her.”
My father.Family reunion planning
I stared at her.
“What did he do?”
Dolly’s eyes filled again.
“He told her not to come back.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“She told me he said the family had finally started healing.”
“No.”
“He said your mother was fragile.”
“Stop.”
“He said seeing Laura again would destroy everything.”
I stood.
“No.”
I wasn’t arguing with Dolly.
I was arguing with reality.
My father had spent decades watching me wonder what happened to Laura.
He had watched my mother cry.
He had watched me celebrate birthdays with one empty chair in my mind.
And he knew.
He knew she was alive.
That evening, I drove to my father’s house.
He was eighty-seven by then.
Slower.
Thinner.
But still mentally sharp.
When I walked inside holding the wooden sunflower, he took one look at it and went completely still.
