Chapter 8 - The Last Conversation With My FatherMy father looked smaller.
Not physically.
Something else.
The certainty was gone.
The arrogance.
The belief that every room belonged to him.
He stood beside the vehicle in a plain jacket.
“Arden.”
“Dad.”
He looked at the lake house.
“It looks beautiful.”
“It is.”
He nodded.
“I was wrong.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“I thought you would always come back.”
“I did.”
“But you didn't come back the way I expected.”
I looked at him.
“I came back as myself.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
He swallowed.
“I destroyed everything.”
“You tried to.”
“I know.”
He looked down.
“Your grandfather warned me.”
“About Victor?”
“About myself.”
I remained silent.
“He told me that one day I'd have to choose between being powerful and being a father.”
My father laughed bitterly.
“I chose power.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then he handed me an envelope.
“What is this?”
“The letter I should have given you years ago.”
I opened it.
It was from my grandfather.
The final letter.
Arden,
If your father ever comes to you asking for forgiveness, remember this: forgiveness is not permission.
I looked at my father.
He was crying now.
The letter continued.
You can love someone and still lock the door.
I folded it carefully.
My father whispered:
“I don't expect you to let me back into your life.”
“I won't.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
Then he turned to leave.
I watched him take three steps.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
“I don't hate you.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thank you.”
“But I won't give you the house.”
A faint smile appeared.
“I wouldn't ask.”
That was the first honest thing he'd said to me in years.
He left.
I returned inside.
One of the nurses hugged me.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
May you like
“Yeah.”
And for the first time, I meant it.
