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My parents\u2019 divorce had been ugly in the way that doesn\u2019t make headlines but leaves permanent marks. Long silences. Sharp words whispered late at night. My father moved across the country not long after the papers were signed. He said it was for work. I said it was running away. We both stopped calling. Each of us waiting for the other to make the first move, until eventually neither of us did.<\/p>\n
Life filled in the space where he used to be. College. A job. Friends. Small victories I never told him about. Big disappointments I pretended didn\u2019t matter. Every once in a while, I\u2019d think of him\u2014when I passed a hardware store, or smelled motor oil, or heard an old song he used to play in the car. But I always pushed the thought aside. There would be time later, I told myself.<\/p>\n
Then the hospital called.<\/p>\n
They said his name carefully, like it might break if spoken too loudly. They said he was asking for me. Just me. No explanations, no pressure\u2014only that he\u2019d mentioned my name more than once.<\/p>\n
I remember staring at my phone after the call ended, my thumb hovering over the screen. I told myself I\u2019d go soon. I had deadlines. Meetings. A life already in motion. I convinced myself that if it were truly urgent, they\u2019d call again.<\/p>\n
Two days later, they did.<\/p>\n
This time, the voice on the other end didn\u2019t ask anything. It only informed me.<\/p>\n
He was gone.<\/p>\n
I flew in for the funeral feeling hollow, like grief had skipped me entirely and left behind something colder. The service was small. People I barely recognized spoke about his kindness, his patience, the way he never complained. I sat stiffly in the pew, hands folded, wondering how they could be talking about the same man I\u2019d been angry with for over a decade.<\/p>\n
Afterward, as people drifted away in quiet clusters, a nurse approached me. She looked tired, the kind of tired that comes from witnessing too many endings.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you his child?\u201d she asked gently.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
She handed me his phone. \u201cHe asked me to give this to you,\u201d she said. \u201cHe typed something, but he never sent it.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t open it right away. I went outside and sat alone on a low stone wall, the phone heavy in my hands. Part of me wanted to leave it untouched, to preserve the version of the story where neither of us ever reached out.<\/p>\n But I opened it.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/latellagelato.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/444-1-1.png\")