Page 74 of Their Stormy Reunion

“Your dad could just relate to Michael easier,” she said weakly.

“Was that it, Dad? You could just relate to him, and it made it easier for you to ignore me? What about the way you belittled me?”

“I never belittled you,” he roared. He was like a cornered lion. A sick, old lion. I should have felt sorry for him, but I didn’t. This was probably my only chance to have this conversation, and I wasn’t going to back down.

“Hell, Dad, you even belittled me today when you poo-pooed my degree in math and computers. Who does that? That was a hard degree, and I graduated at the top of my class. What the fuck, Dad? It’s like you worked to actively hate me.”

“I did not. I loved you,” he roared again. “I mean, I love you. Right now, today. And back then. I’ve always loved you.”

“Then why didn’t you show it?”

“I always showed you I loved you. I came in and tucked you in when you were little. I always came in and looked under your bed for monsters. I showed you I loved you.”

“Why did you put me down? Why weren’t you proud of me?”

“You were always so strong. You were so much smarter than I could ever hope to be. You didn’t need my praise. You could do anything. And you did. You have.”

He reached out and grabbed for my hand. I let him take it. His grip was so much weaker than I remembered.

“I am so sorry that I didn’t give you the recognition you deserved.”

I was having a tough time taking in the fact that my father had just apologized to me. His watery blue eyes were begging for forgiveness.

“Fallon. I love you, and I’m proud of you. I am so sorry that I didn’t show you that the right way before. And now? The way you came home, and how you’ve been here for me and your mother for the last six weeks has been amazing.” Dad was fighting back tears. “Thank you.”

Mom grabbed my other hand. “Your father’s right. I prayed for a miracle, and you have been one of the miracles God has granted.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better daughter,” Dad continued. “Say you’ll forgive me.”

“Forgive us,” my mom chimed in.

The block of ice that had encased the piece of my heart where my parents were lodged started to crack. “You don’t need my forgiveness. We’re family. I just needed to know that going forward, that I’m enough for you.” My voice broke.

“You are,” Mom assured me.

They both squeezed my hands tightly and I felt like I was outside again, under the summer sun.

“If only you hadn’t—” my dad stopped.

I frowned

“What, Dad?”

“I just don’t know why you ran away. Why did you leave Michael that way? Make us understand.”

I looked from Dad to Mom and then back again. “Michael will need to be here to have that discussion.”

Despite retiring, Dad had to go out of town on business. He might not be the president of the bank anymore, but he still had to go to certain quarterly shareholder meetings, so that had my ass planted at my childhood home with Mom.

I was just settling in to turn on a ballgame, when Mom sat down beside me on the couch. She plopped something on my lap. I looked down and groaned.

“I’ve been good all day, what did I do to deserve this?” I asked as I looked at the photo album.

“It’s either this, or some of your dad’s home films.”

“You win. You win. The photo album.”

Mom grinned. She loved looking through these albums. I looked at the dates on the spine and realized this was the one from when I first came to live with them. They’d taken a picture of me that first day, when I showed up with a black Hefty bag holding all my clothes and the three toys I owned. Back then, Mom and Dad were foster parents who usually took in kids who were in transition.