Chapter 9 - Spring Cleaning
By April, the bitter winter had finally melted away, replaced by the warm, blooming sunshine of spring.
Delaney and I were spending our Saturday morning cleaning out the garage, sorting through old boxes of childhood memorabilia and gardening supplies.
The radio played upbeat pop music while Delaney danced around with a feather duster, singing at the top of her lungs. I paused, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my gloved hand, smiling as I watched her twirl in the warm driveway sunlight.
She was happy. Truly, deeply happy.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a text from my hospital scheduling coordinator about an open shift.
Instead, it was an unknown local number.
I swiped and answered. "Hello?"
"Rachel?"
The voice was thin, raspy, and halting. It took me a full three seconds to recognize it. It was my father.
"Dad," I said, my tone neutral, devoid of anger or excitement. "How did you get this number?"
"I... I got it from a directory," he murmured, clearing his throat. There was a long, agonizing pause on the line. "I just... I wanted to call and let you know. Your mother and I... we got part-time jobs. She’s working the front desk at a local community center, and I’m helping out part-time at the municipal water department archive. Just filing papers, a few hours a week."
I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the open garage door. "Good for you, Dad. Staying active is important in retirement."
Another heavy pause. I could hear him breathing raggedly on the other end, fighting through a lifetime of monumental pride.
"Rachel... I saw Delaney’s school soccer team photo in the local paper last week," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "She... she looks so much like you when you were nine. Playing goalie. She has your focus."
I didn't interrupt. I let him speak.
"I don't expect you to forgive me," he whispered, the defensive swagger completely gone, leaving only the hollow shell of an old man who had finally realized what he threw away. "And I don't expect you to ever let me back into her life. I deserved every single thing that happened to us. I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything."
I stood there in the bright spring sunshine, looking over at my daughter as she did a silly victory dance with her feather duster.
The anger I had carried for months—for years—felt light, like dust being blown away in the wind. I didn't need his apology to validate my worth anymore. I didn't need his approval to be a good mother.
May you like
"Thank you for saying that, Dad," I replied softly, my voice gentle for the first time in as long as I could remember. "I hope you and Mom find some peace. Goodbye."
I hung up the phone, walked over to the recycling bin, and dropped the phone inside my pocket.
