That afternoon I drove us home, whom I hadn't seen for almost twenty years. The driveway was always broken as in my memory. The lamp on the porch was still buzzing faintly, even in broad daylight.
Liam got out of the car with a small box in his hands. I stayed inside. My palms were sweating on the steering wheel.
Hands Grabbed at the Wheel | Source : Pexels
He scored twice.
My father opened the door a few seconds later. From the car, I could see that he didn't recognize Liam right away – how would he even recognize him? As far as I know, he never laid himself on his grandson.
But Liam looked like me. And I looked like my father.
I knew it would only take him a few seconds to see him to really see who was standing on his porch.
My father looked older, more fragile than in my memories, but no less proud. She was no less cold.
Older man opens door to talk to young man | Source: Midjourney
Liam stretched out the box.
"Here," he said calmly. "You can celebrate my birthday with it. »
My father looked confused, but he took the box, his eyes narrowed as he searched for Liam's face. I saw a spark of surprise when recognition struck—when he realized he was standing in front of his grandson.
It appeared quickly, suddenly and unpredictably... Then he disappeared just as quickly, absorbed in the cold, stoic expression I'd always known.
Young man giving older man a box of cakes | Source: Midjourney
"I forgive you," Liam continued. "For what you did to me. And my mother. »
