“But he left you,” I said. “When you were sick.”

“I know.”

“You almost died.”

My mom reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “But I didn’t.” Her smile was soft. “And neither did you.”

I sat there thinking about that for a long time.

If my mom could move forward after everything, maybe I could too.

Not forgiveness, but something close to peace.

Maybe I could too.

***

The following day, I walked back into Room 304 with a chart and a calm expression. My father looked nervous the moment he saw me.

“Kel… ly…”

I checked his IV line. “How are you feeling this morning?”

He swallowed. “I’m… sorry.”

I kept my tone professional. “You need to focus on your recovery.”

His eyes searched my face. “I… kept… image…”

“I’m… sorry.”

Continued on the next page