I needed him to hear that knowing the truth did not make me love him less.
I ran from the parking lot to his floor.
The nurse was waiting outside his room.
I needed to tell Frank I understood.
One look at her face stopped me.
“I’m sorry, ma’am… your father…”
I pushed past her.
Frank lay exactly as I had left him, except the room was silent.
No oxygen hiss.
No strained breath.
Frank lay exactly as I had left him, except the room was silent.
I took his hand and pressed it against my cheek.
“You should have told me,” I whispered.
My tears warmed his cold fingers.
“You should have let me thank you, Dad.”
The nurse placed a small plastic bag beside me.
“These were his personal belongings.”
“You should have let me thank you, Dad.”
Inside were his watch, his keys, and the old brown wallet he had carried for as long as I could remember.
I opened it.
Behind his driver’s license was a worn photograph.
Miley stood at a kitchen table beside a plate of star-shaped apple pancakes.
The corners were soft from being touched.
Behind it was another photograph.
Me at five years old, grinning as I held up a crooked pancake with one burned point.
Behind it was another photograph.
Nothing was written on either picture.
Frank had carried both daughters with him every day.
He had never replaced Miley with me.
He had never loved me because he had forgotten her.
He had loved me while remembering exactly how much love could cost.
He had never replaced Miley with me.
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