Chapter 2 - Seven DaysThe first day, I barely spoke a word to him.
Edmund didn't push. He just let the silence sit there between us, like he understood he'd earned every second of it.
On the second day, he asked if I still hated pears.
I frowned at him. "How would you even know that?"
"Your mother hated them too."
"So?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "So did you. Even mashed up in baby food, you'd spit it right back out."
I hated hearing that. Mostly because some traitor part of me immediately wanted another story just like it.
On the third day, he told me my mother used to tap one finger against her water glass whenever she got angry.
I looked down. My own index finger was already tapping against the arm of the chair.
Edmund smiled.
I stopped instantly. "Don't look so pleased with yourself."
"I'm not, dear."
"You are."
He sighed. "Maybe a little."
We spent hours that day talking about Rosalind — how badly she used to sing while doing dishes, how she once drove forty miles back to a gas station because she'd left her purse on the counter, how she'd double-knot my shoes every single morning because I always managed to kick them loose by lunch. For twenty years my mother had existed in my memory only as fragments, scattered pieces I couldn't quite fit together. Edmund kept handing me more of them, one at a time, like he'd been saving them up.
On the fourth day, I finally asked the question I'd been circling since I walked through the front door.
"Why did you leave me there?"
Edmund stared out the window for a long time before he answered.
"Because I was a coward."
I waited.
"After Rosalind died, I remarried. Fast. It was new, and it was fragile, and I told myself I couldn't survive losing anything else so soon."
"So?"
"I told myself foster care would only be temporary. That professionals could handle what you'd been through better than I could."
"That's convenient."
"Yes." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "I chose the easier life, Susan. I'm not going to dress it up as anything else."
The honesty hurt worse than any excuse would have.
"I told myself I'd fix it later," he went on.
"Did later ever actually arrive?"
He looked straight at me then. "Every year I waited made coming back feel harder than the last. Then you aged out of the system, moved, and I lost your trail completely. By the time I finally hired someone to look, you were already gone."
I laughed, and there wasn't a single ounce of humor in it. "Poor you. I didn't die. I was just twelve miles away the whole time, gluing my shoes back together."
"Sus—"
I stepped back out of his reach. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
By the fifth day, I was the one adjusting his pillows without being asked.
Vivian noticed. She always seemed to be nearby, watching from a doorway or the top of the staircase, arms crossed.
On the sixth afternoon she finally caught me alone in the hallway, blocking my path with her whole body.
"You've been here six days."
I stared at her. "Congratulations. You can count."
She drummed her fingers hard against her hip. "Dad asks for you every single time he wakes up now."
"That's not exactly my fault."
"Really?" Her voice sharpened. "You show up out of absolutely nowhere, and suddenly you're the only person in this house who matters to him."
"That's not what I —"
She jabbed a finger against my collarbone, hard enough that I stepped back. "What exactly are you expecting to get when he dies?"
"The same thing I've gotten from him my entire life."
"Which is?"
"Nothing." I said it flat, no shake in my voice at all. "So you can stop worrying I'm here for your inheritance, Vivian. I don't even want to be here."
I walked past her before she could get another word in.
That evening Edmund was worse. Rain tapped softly against the windows while I sat beside his bed.
He reached for me. This time, when he pulled me closer, I let him.
"I know you hate me," he whispered.
"Sometimes."
A weak smile touched his mouth. "Fair."
Then his whole expression collapsed inward. "Soon you'll understand everything."
I pulled back slightly. "What does that mean?"
His eyes filled. "Edmund?" I said, my voice cracking on his name for the first time all week.
He tried to speak. Nothing came out.
I called for the nurse.
May you like
Those were the last words my father ever said to me.
A few hours later, he died.
