The Reunion II

I hadn't seen my father in fifteen years. He left when I was twelve. No explanation. Just a note on the kitchen table and an empty closet.\n\nI spent years being angry. Then years being sad. Then years pretending I didn't care.\n\nLast month, I got a letter. Forwarded from my old address. The handwriting was unfamiliar.\n\n"Dear Sarah, I know I don't have the right to contact you. But I'm sick. Cancer. The doctors say I have months. I would like to see you before I go. No expectations. Just to say I'm sorry. — Dad"\n\nI stared at the letter for three days.\n\nI went. I don't know why. Maybe for closure. Maybe because some part of me still needed my father.\n\nHe was thin. Fragile. Nothing like the man I remembered.\n\n"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything. I was a coward. I was scared. I thought leaving was easier than facing my failures. It wasn't."\n\n"I'm dying," I said. "And I don't know what to feel."\n\n"That's okay. You don't have to feel anything. I just wanted to see you one more time."\n\nI stayed for an hour. We didn't talk much. But I held his hand.\n\nHe died two weeks later.\n\nI don't know if I've forgiven him. But I'm glad I went. Because now I know that even broken love is still love. And some apologies, even late ones, are worth hearing.