I knocked on the door, my heart racing with anticipation. The door creaked open, and my dad's disheveled figure stood before me, his eyes still cloudy from the effects of the medication. I didn't hesitate, I flung myself into his arms, wrapping my hands around him tightly, as if I never wanted to let him go again.
My dad's body stiffened in surprise, his arms hanging limp by his sides. I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, feeling the warmth of his body envelop me. I held on tight, my fingers digging into his back, as if I was clinging to a lifeline.
Slowly, my dad's arms came around me, his hands patting my back in a gentle, soothing motion. I felt his body relax, his tension melting away as he surrendered to the embrace. His sobs were muffled at first, but soon grew louder, his jaw trembling against the top of my head.
I held on, my own tears flowing freely, as my dad's body shook with emotion. We stood there, locked in a tight embrace, the world around us melting away. I felt like I was home, like I had finally found my safe haven.
My dad's arms tightened around me, his fingers tangling in my hair, as he whispered my name over and over again. I felt his love, his regret, his relief, all pouring out of him like a dam had burst. I knew in that moment, that everything was going to be okay. We were going to be okay.
We stood there for what felt like an eternity, our tears mingling, our hearts beating as one. I knew that I would never let him go again, that I would hold on to him forever, no matter what life threw our way.
Still holding onto each other, our tears slowly subsiding, my dad began to make promises, his voice filled with determination and conviction. "I'll never drink again, James," he vowed, his words pouring out like a solemn oath. "I promise to always stay sober, to be the father you deserve."
But I didn't want him to make promises he might not be able to keep. I didn't want him to feel like he had to change for me. So I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, "You don't have to do that, Dad. You don't have to promise me anything."
He pulled back, looking at me with confusion and concern. "What do you mean, James? Of course, I have to promise you. I have to be better for you."
But I shook my head, my eyes locking onto his. "No, Dad. You don't understand. I get it. I get why you drink. I know it's not just about me, it's about the pain and the struggles you've been through. And I'm not asking you to stop for me. I'm just asking you to be happy, to be at peace."
My dad's face contorted, his eyes welling up with tears again. "James, my boy," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're too much for me. You're too good for me."
But I just smiled, my heart full of love and understanding. "You're my dad," I said simply. "And I love you, no matter what."
We stood there, frozen in our embrace, the entrance door still open behind us, my luggage by my side, a silent witness to our reunion. The sound of Uncle Fred's car fading into the distance was the only noise that broke the silence. Then, I asked the question that had been burning in my mind, my voice barely above a whisper. "Dad, what did Mom do to you?"
My dad's body tensed, his arms tightening around me as if he was bracing himself for the pain that came with the memories. He took a deep breath, his voice cracking as he began to speak. "Your mom, James...she...she hasn't been treating me well. No respect, no kindness. She's been cheating on me, using you as a leverage to keep me in line."
The words spilled out of him like a dam had burst, a torrent of pain and hurt that had been building up for so long. I listened, my heart heavy with sorrow, as he told me about the countless fights, the bitter words, the tears and the tears and the tears.
He spoke of how she would use me as a pawn in their games of manipulation, how she would threaten to take me away from him if he didn't do her bidding. How she would belittle him in front of me, making him feel small and insignificant.
My dad's body shook with sobs, his words tumbling out in a desperate bid to unburden himself of the weight that had been crushing him. I held him tight, my own tears flowing freely, as I listened to the tale of his suffering.
The entrance door was still open, the world outside still spinning, but in that moment, it was just us, lost in our own little bubble of pain and heartache.
"Come on in, buddy, let me make you some breakfast," my dad said, his voice still shaky from the emotional release, but filled with a warmth and love that I couldn't resist.
I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude and comfort at the thought of my dad's cooking. I had already had breakfast at Uncle Fred's, but somehow, my dad's offer felt like exactly what I needed in that moment. Maybe it was the nostalgia of his cooking, the memories of lazy Sunday mornings spent around the breakfast table, or maybe it was just the fact that I wanted to be close to him, to feel his love and care in a tangible way.
Whatever the reason, I followed him into the kitchen, my eyes taking in the familiar sights and smells of the room. The sunlight streaming through the window, the hum of the refrigerator, the sizzle of the stove as my dad began to cook.
He moved with a quiet confidence, his hands moving deftly as he cracked eggs into a bowl, added a dash of salt and pepper, and stirred the mixture with a gentle touch. The sizzle of the pan as he added the eggs, the aroma of cooking bacon, the toast popping up from the toaster - it was all so familiar, so comforting.
We didn't talk much, just the occasional murmur or nod, but the silence was comfortable, filled with the knowledge that we were together, that we were okay. My dad plated the food, handed me a fork, and we sat down at the table, the warmth of the meal spreading through me like a hug.
The flavors danced on my tongue, the textures a perfect balance, but it was more than just the food - it was the love, the care, the connection that came with sharing a meal with my dad. We ate slowly, savoring the moment, the silence between us filled with the knowledge that we were home, we were safe, we were together.