“I’m a doctor, Dad.”
“I know what you are.”
His voice remained calm.
“I’m offering you a way to earn some money while this is being sorted out. If you don’t want the work, say so.”
I looked at the unpaid bills beside my laptop.
“I’ll be there at eight.”
“Good. Wear something comfortable.”
The next morning, I unpacked boxes behind my father’s counter.
A customer came in looking for lightbulbs. When she noticed me, she asked whether I was his son.
I braced myself for a question about the photograph.
Instead, she asked where we kept the lightbulbs.
I showed her the shelf.
She thanked me and left.
I stood there for a moment, surprised by how relieved I felt.
At lunch, Dad handed me a sandwich.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he said.
“I know.”
“But you do have to be honest with yourself.”
I looked at him.
