And I sit here, wondering how a love so loud became a ghost I can’t outrun.
I smiled bitterly and reached for the landline no one uses anymore. Dialed a number I hadn’t called in thirty years.
It rang.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then—
“Hello?”
It was him.
My father. Older. Tired. But still him. Still warm in that quiet, exhausted way.
I couldn’t speak. Held the receiver like it was keeping me upright. Tears slipped down, soft and unstoppable.
“…F-father,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “…It’s me. Doris.”
The line was still warm in my hand when I heard my father’s voice. Calm. Tired. Like the kind of tired that’s lived a thousand lonely nights waiting.
“Come home, Doris,” he said.
“I’ve been waiting for you for twenty years.”
Twenty years. Twenty years of waiting. And me, too afraid or too proud or maybe just too broken to pick up the phone.
My knees almost gave out, but I caught myself. Instead, I sank to the edge of the bed and let the tears fall.
“I’m coming home,” I whispered, voice barely a ghost.
He didn’t say anything more. Just the sound of his breath, steady and real, a lifeline. I hung up before I could say goodbye.
That’s when Edmund walked in. Like a shadow slipping through the cracked door. His eyes were cold — calculating — like he could smell the truth on me and hated it.
He didn’t even bother to pretend.
“I know you saw the tickets,” he said. Smirk like he was telling a joke. “Limited to six, Doris. Me. Elizabeth. Lester. Loisa. The twins. That’s it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“You’re deliberately excluded.”
His voice dropped to a dead calm. Like ice melting on concrete.
“When I get back, I’ll buy you a diamond set. Take you to Hawaii.”
Like those words were supposed to be a consolation prize. Then he turned, walked out without another glance. Just like I was air.
I stood there a moment, silent. Staring at the door he just closed behind him like a coffin.
The next morning, I moved through the motions in the kitchen. Omelets, bacon, toast — the smell sharp and mocking.
From the living room, I heard the twins. Laughing, shouting like it was Christmas morning.
“This cruise is the biggest ever!” Lester yelled. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
Their voices were bright, innocent. And cruel.
Then Elizabeth showed up, arms loaded with takeout bags.