“Yes.”
She looked through the doorway at her sisters.
“Because I finally understood something.”
“What?”
“That Dad protecting us doesn’t mean Dad has to carry every painful thing alone.”
I looked at her.
She took my hand.
“You spent years making sure we knew we were loved. But we also needed to know that you were allowed to tell the truth.”
I felt my eyes burn.
“I was afraid the truth would hurt you.”
“It did,” she said. “But the lie was hurting us, too.”
We stood quietly for a moment.
Then she smiled.
“Come on. Dinner’s ready, and Michael is about to burn something.”
I followed her into the dining room.
Six daughters.
One crowded table.
More laughter than I could remember.
As I sat down, Maya raised her glass.
“To Dad,” she announced.
Everyone groaned affectionately.
“Oh, here we go,” Stella said.
Maya ignored her.
“To the man who showed up. Every day. Even when he was tired, even when things were difficult, even when none of us knew how much he was carrying.”
