At my dad’s funeral, my brother said, «She’s just here for the money — dad’s going to cut her off.» Everyone watched the lawyer enter, holding a USB. My dad’s face appeared on the screen and said three words…

Some of us have flights, but Mr. Dawson didn’t flinch. He walked past them calmly and set the cedar box on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Then he placed his briefcase next to it and began to open the latches.

It was your father’s express wish, he said, that this be viewed before any legal matters are addressed. Lindsay rolled her eyes. Mark muttered something under his breath.

A few cousins leaned forward. Curiosity peaked in spite of themselves. I stayed quiet, but Caleb… Caleb sat up straighter beside me.

His grip on my hand loosened just slightly. I looked down at him, and his face, soft, open, was lit with something quiet but unmistakable. Hope.

He didn’t say a word, but I could feel it radiating from him. Like he already knew. Like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than I had.

And for the first time since I walked into that house, I didn’t feel like I was alone. The screen flickered once, then again, before settling into focus. A faint hum filled the room.

And then… there he was. My father. Older than I remembered.

Thinner, too. His once-proud shoulders had slumped into something softer. His eyes… always.

So sharp, so cold. Retired now? Shadowed beneath a weight I couldn’t name. He sat at his old oak desk, the one that used to be off-limits to everyone but him.

Behind him, the painting of the marsh still hung on the wall, same as it had my whole childhood. He looked directly into the camera. If Rachel is watching this… He began, voice low, gravelly.

I owe you the apology I never gave. Every breath in the room seemed to freeze. I was wrong, he said.

I judged you for leaving a marriage I didn’t understand. I thought you were weak. I thought… you were selfish.

I let myself believe what I wanted to believe because it was easier than asking questions I wasn’t ready to hear. He paused, his fingers twitching slightly in his lap. A nervous tick I’d never seen before.

When you showed up on my porch that night, bruised, shaking, with your baby in your arms, I should have opened the door. I should have pulled you inside and said, you’re safe now. But I didn’t.

I let pride speak louder than love. A lump formed in my throat. Caleb reached for my hand again, his little fingers folding into mine.

I didn’t take my eyes off the screen. I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I was teaching you responsibility.

But truth is, I was. Punishing you. For leaving.

For choosing yourself. For daring to be stronger than I ever taught you to be. Behind me, I heard the subtle shifting of chairs.

Someone exhaling too loudly. But I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.

Not now. I found out the truth, Rachel. A few years ago, Gerald came by with an envelope.

Said it was from a friend who wanted to cover the heating bill. The handwriting. It didn’t take long to figure it out.

He leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting. You sent money. Every month.

For years. Quietly. No credit.

No contact. Just care. Even when I gave you nothing in return.

Even when I pretended you didn’t exist. You never stopped being my daughter. Even when I stopped being your father.

My breath hitched. I blinked. Hard…