| General Fiction posted April 13, 2025 | Chapters: |
...5 6 -7- 8... 
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A Journey
A chapter in the book Emotional Guest List
Anger Gives In To Hope
by Begin Again
"Healing from the past is not about erasing it, but about finding freedom from its grip."
She could feel the throbbing in her temples before answering the phone. Her mother's unexpected text — "I need a favor" — had already sent her thoughts spiraling.
She could feel the throbbing in her temples before answering the phone. Her mother's unexpected text — "I need a favor" — had already sent her thoughts spiraling.
Something in her gut told her it would have something to do with her dad. She'd forced herself to attend the funeral and act respectfully, but now, all she wanted was to forget everything she'd ever known about him.
When she finally answered, her mother got straight to the point. "You wouldn't be ignoring me, now would you?"
"Of course not. Why would I?" she sighed, knowing that's exactly what she'd been doing.
"Because I said I needed a favor."
"Well, I'm guessing the favor has something to do with Dad. Something you don't want to deal with. Am I right?"
"It's not that I don't want to deal with it. I have an important business engagement out of town. Unfortunately, the realtor called. They're listing the house on Monday. Everything needs to be cleared out by then."
She exhaled. "I can't believe what you are asking me after all these years. You decided to leave him, to take me with you, and he didn't try to stop us. Now, I'm supposed to care and clean up his mess."
"I know you blamed him, but truthfully, we're the ones who left him."
"I was a kid, Mom. He should have been the one to step up and be my father, regardless of the differences between the two of you. He didn't!"
"I'm sorry for the choices your father and I made, but we can't change them. Please, go there one last time and take care of things for me."
Was that regret coming from her mother or just a good con job to get out of doing it herself?
"Let them throw it all out," she muttered. "There's nothing I want from that place."
There was a pause, just long enough to make her feel guilty for saying it.
Her mother's voice softened. "You don't have to want anything. But maybe you need to see it — just once — before it's gone."
The line went quiet, and then she heard her mother gasp. Was she crying? She'd never know because the line went dead.
She stared at her phone, her heart pounding harder than she liked to admit. She didn't care, but the truth was, she did.
*****
The following day, she drove to the house — alone. Except for her emotions — Regret, Hope, Anger, and even Nostalgia — who after all these years were always there.
The cherry red '57 Chevy was sitting in the driveway, waiting — maybe even wondering — if she remembered the long nights she'd sat in the driver's seat, listening to music while her dad worked on the engine. She'd dreamt of borrowing it for her high school prom, but they'd left in her sophomore year, so it never happened.
As she climbed out of her car and walked toward the house, memories of yelling goodbye to her friends after school and Mr. Trevor cutting his roses, always handing her one and saying, "All princesses should have roses," blasted her.She unlocked the door, swung it open, and stood there, frozen. Anger seethed beside her, urging her to close the door and walk away.
The house smelled like old books, pipe tobacco, onions, and him.
Nostalgia slipped past her before she could stop it, curling into the room like the scent of his old jacket. She could even see a half-eaten sandwich on a plate near her father's favorite chair. A can of beer remained on guard as if telling the mice he'd be back.
She took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The floor creaked beneath her feet, and for a second, she was fifteen again. Angry. Hurt. Certain he'd never loved her the way he should have.
She told herself this wasn't a homecoming. It was a chore.
She moved through the hallway with trash bags in hand, determined to feel nothing.
But something kept pulling her forward.
Before she knew it, she had taken his flannel shirt off the hook by the back door and slipped it on. She told herself it wasn't sentimental. Just practical.
But Nostalgia only smiled.
She wandered from room to room, letting her eyes wander, searching for something or maybe it was remembering.
On the shelf, her favorite doll, with frayed yellow yarn hair and a dirty face —remnants of being loved — stared at her.
A grocery list on the fridge: applesauce, cookies, cheese cubes — her childhood favorites, still pinned on the message board.
A framed photo of her riding a bike — her smile wide, front teeth missing — hung on the wall. And several more — her graduation, her starring moment in the school concert, and her first car.
Anger stepped away with uncertainty, not gone but not as strong as before.
She found her old dresses hung in plastic covers in the closet, and her neatly folded high school sweater sat on the shelf.
A copy of Nancy Drew's Adventures remained on the nightstand, bookmarked halfway through the chapter she always made him reread.
Something in her chest cracked. Her eyes glistened, and she swatted the threatening tears away.
Hope and Regret stood with fingers crossed.
And then she found the box on his desk — wooden, with a brass latch. Someone had carved her name in the corner in careful, uneven lettering.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted the lid.
Inside: newspaper clippings from her softball games. Recital programs with stars beside her name. Ticket stubs. A birthday card she'd drawn in crayon. Her graduation picture faded and curled at the edges.
Each piece whispered, "I saw you. I loved you. I never went away."
At the very bottom, folded like something sacred, was a letter. She unfolded it and read —
I never stopped loving you. I just didn't know how to reach past your anger. I know I deserved most of it.
But I never stopped watching you grow. I never stopped being proud.
I just didn't know how to say the right things when it mattered.
I hope you found happiness. I hope you remember who you are.
And I hope, one day, you'll come home — not to the house, but to the truth.
You were always the best part of me.
Loved you then and love you now,
Dad
Her hands trembled. It wasn't Forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something.
Healing sat beside her, silent — not to erase everything, but to remind her some things still mattered.
She wiped her eyes and looked around the room at everything he'd never let go of, even when she had.
Gratitude stirred quietly — unexpected and soft, not for the pain, but for the proof that love had always been there, waiting to be found.
She ran her fingers across the edge of the box. Then she stood, took one last slow look around the house, and reached for her phone.
Her mother answered on the third ring.
"Mom?" she said, her voice catching.
"Yes?"
"I'm going to buy the house."
*****
Sitting in his favorite chair, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Her hands rubbed against the fabric on the arms of the chair. She whispered, "I love you, too, Dad."
She hadn't found closure yet. Instead, she found something better — understanding and the love she thought was never there.
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