“I can’t even keep food down,” I whispered to Dad one night.
“Then I’ll make soup.”
“My business is falling apart.”
“We’ll save what we can, kiddo.”
Dad was there every day.
Once, I called Mom crying.
“Your father visited yesterday, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then try getting some sleep, sweetheart.”
Eventually, I stopped calling her.
Destroyed me.
One afternoon, Dad arrived carrying a tiny wooden bird.
“What’s this?”
“A very expensive piece of art.”
I smiled. “It looks like a sparrow.”
“Then my artistic career is ruined.”
I stopped calling her.
He placed it beside my bed.
“When you’re better, we’ll build something bigger.”
“The workshop?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What if I don’t get better?”
A tiny wooden bird.
“Then I’ll keep making you ridiculous birds.”
I laughed through my tears. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
***
Six weeks before my final appointment, Dad stopped visiting.
Mom claimed he was overwhelmed with orders. When I couldn’t reach him, she said he’d damaged his phone.
