“Dad,” he said. “You came.”
“Of course I came.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you stayed home.”
“You are still my son.”
His face tightened with emotion.
“After everything?”
“After everything.”
He stepped forward and hugged me.
For one second, my body remained stiff.
Then I put my arms around him.
The embrace was awkward and painful, but it was also real.
It felt like the first step toward something neither of us yet knew how to name.
The drive back toward Knoxville was quiet.
Michael sat in the passenger seat with a small bag at his feet, watching the Tennessee countryside pass outside the window. Neither of us knew where to begin.
Eventually, he spoke.
“I thought about that morning every day.”
“So did I.”
“I replayed every word I said.”
I kept my eyes on the road.
