The Father

Some promises survive even when the memory doesn't

The past is never silent. We only learn how to listen.

Rain fell through the broken roof. The man opened his eyes beneath it. For several seconds, he only listened. Water against concrete. Wind through ruined walls. A small machine hovering above him.

"You're alive," the Ghost said.

The man pushed himself upright.

"I was dead?"

"Yes."

He looked around. The room had once been a home. Now it was rubble. A collapsed ceiling. Broken furniture. Dust turned dark by rain. Something small lay half-buried beneath a fallen beam. The man pulled it free. A stuffed bear. Its fur was worn and stained. A yellow raincoat still clung to its body. Around its neck hung a tag. He wiped the dirt away.

To Maisie from Daddy

The man stared at it.

"Do you remember her?" the Ghost asked.

"No."

"Do you remember being her father?"

"No."

The Ghost drifted closer.

"My name is Kevin."

He looked back at the bear. Somewhere outside, thunder rolled.

"Do you think she was yours?" Kevin said.

The Guardian looked down at the old bear.

"I don't know."

He ran a thumb across the faded tag.

"But I hope her father made it home."

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