By Friday, we were in a dull office with beige walls while a doctor spoke words I barely understood but instantly despised. Cancer. Aggressive. Treatment.
Daniel squeezed my knee beneath the table. Dad stayed quiet, distracted by his phone.
“I’ll keep this short,” he said. That alone should have warned me. He didn’t sit. He stood by the door, already halfway gone.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he admitted. “For a while.”
Maya gasped. Sophie climbed into Mom’s lap. Liam stared at the floor.
“I can’t do this,” Dad continued. “I’m not strong enough to watch her get sick. I deserve some happiness too.”
Daniel jumped up.
“So what, you’re just leaving?”
Dad shrugged.
“I’m going to live with her. She gives me love and joy. I can’t live in constant sadness.”
“What about the kids?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was being unreasonable.
“You’re adults now. You’ll figure it out.”
Then he packed a bag. No hugs. No promises. No plan. The door shut, and something inside our home closed forever.
After that, he disappeared.
No calls. No birthdays. No money.
No texts asking about treatment.
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