When Alice was six, my wife passed away. After that, nothing was ever the same. At her funeral, I promised her Id look after our daughter and love her enough for the both of us, right to the end of my days.
My Alice grew up clever and kind. She studied, helped me about the house, and cooked just like her mumdelicious, mouth-watering meals. Time drifted on, and Alice started at university. Her marks dipped, but it didnt matter, not reallyshe juggled a job and still sorted the chores at home. Later, she met Thomas, and not long after, introduced him to me.
He seemed like a decent chap. I was quietly thrilled when they both announced theyd stay on with me in our house after they wed. But that was the moment everything twisted strange. My son-in-law turned boorish and sharp-tongued, shouting at me without warning, as though the kitchen light flickered and set him off each time.
When Alice brought up selling our modest two-bedroom cottage to buy a bigger flat in London, I set one condition: the new place must be in my name. Of course, Thomas exploded, accusing me of distrust. But I wasnt hiding anything. I told them plainlyI just need to know Ill always have a roof when Im old. When Im gone, the flats yours. Do with it what you like.
After that, my daughter and her husband packed their bits, cursing at me in ways I didnt recognise, and left for the city two days later.
From then on, Alice seemed to vanish from my life, but deep down, I hoped shed understand me one day and let go of her sulk. Months passed. My sixtieth birthday arrived. I was certain Alice had plotted some surprise. I polished the house, cooked all her favourites, put on my best shirt, and sat at the table. All day I gazed out at the crooked garden gate, waiting for it to swing open, waiting for Alice to materialise as if on the rolling mist.
Evening fell. I changed, went to bed, left the feast upon the table. I lay there and cried, whispering to the photograph of my wife. I dont remember when I drifted off. Did Alice truly hold such a grudge she wouldnt even call to wish me happy birthday? Or could something darker have happened to her? But Alicemy Alicecouldnt have simply forgotten her old dadIn the blue hush of dawn, sleep fled as the doorbell rang, insistent as a heartbeat. I shuffled to the door, blanket wrapped tight. Through the filmy glass, I saw her: hair wind-tossed, clutching a faded bag, no Thomas by her side. Just Alice. My Alice.
She hesitated on the step, searching my face for forgiveness, or maybe just a place to belong. There were circles under her eyes, but her smile was the one her mother used to wear, soft and trembling.
I opened the door. She stepped into my arms with a relief so fierce it shook us both.
Im sorry, Dad, she whispered into my shoulder. I was wrong.
I stroked her hair, swallowing every ache and argument. Youre home, love. Thats all that matters.
Sunlight spilled across the trembling table, onto the untouched feast. Alice grinnedhalf woman, half childand began to set plates, as if nothing had changed. And in a way, nothing hadnot the love, not the promise I made long ago.
We ate together, between laughter and tears. Outside, the garden gate creaked open and shut in the new breeze, and I knew, whatever wed lost, this morning wed found our way back.
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