Lyra grabbed it and called, her hands shaking slightly. “Dad, can you come over?” Then she nodded. “Okay. Goodbye.”

“He’s at a nearby store. He’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,” she said.

While we waited, no one spoke.

Before the fifteen minutes were even up, there was a knock.

I looked at my girls in the living room one more time before opening the door.

Their father stood there.

When he stepped inside, no one spoke at first.

Then Lyra broke the silence.

“You really stayed away this whole time?”

Edwin looked down, ashamed.

Dora stepped forward.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That it wouldn’t matter?”

His expression shifted slightly.

“I thought… you’d be better off. And I didn’t want to tarnish your mother’s memory.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” she said.

“I know that now. And I am so sorry.”

For the first time, I saw tears in his eyes.

Lyra held up one of the documents. “This is real? You did all this?”

“Yes. I worked as hard and as long as I could to fix it.”

But Jenny shook her head.

“You missed everything.”

“I know.”

“I graduated. I moved out. I came back. You weren’t there for any of it.”

Silence.

Jenny looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she turned away, years of pain sitting quietly with her.

Dora stepped closer until there was no distance left.

“Are you staying this time?”

For a second, I thought he might hesitate.

But he didn’t.

“If you’ll let me.”

No one hugged. No one rushed forward.

Instead, Dora said, “We should start preparing dinner.”

Like that was simply… the next step.

So we did.

Dinner felt different that night. Not tense—just unfamiliar.

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