I heard my daughter whisper “I miss you, Daddy” on the phone – I buried her father 18 years ago

And I hated it.

Because it meant he wasn't a ghost.

The fury has returned.

I sat down, my fingers curled around my coffee cup as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You didn't just disappear,” I said. “You abandoned her. For 18 years.”

“I know,” he said, hunching his shoulders slightly.

“You could have come back at any time,” I insisted.

Charles looked down.

“I thought about it every year,” he admitted calmly. “But I always convinced myself that you would both be better off.”

I laughed. This cowardice was almost laughable.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the window as if he couldn't bear to meet my gaze.

“Mom and I haven't spoken in years,” she added softly. “What she did… I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her, either.”

At that point, her voice broke. There was real emotion. But I wasn't ready to be moved. Not yet. I reached into my bag and slid a document onto the table, almost knocking over her coffee cup.

His fingers trembled slightly as he opened it.

“What is it, Allie?” he asks cautiously.