The moment my phone went silent,
so did something inside me.
I walked back into the room slowly,
my legs heavy,
my heart heavier.
Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed,
Olerato sleeping on her chest,
her eyes following every step I took.
I didn’t even have to speak.
She saw it on my face —
the shame,
the fear,
the guilt that wraps itself around a father’s heart
and squeezes hard.
I sat down beside her,
my shoulders slumped,
my voice barely a whisper.
“I’m failing Angela…” I said,
the words tasting bitter,
as if admitting them made the pain worse.
Rebecca didn’t argue or rush to correct me.
She placed her hand on my thigh gently,
the same way she always did
when she wanted to keep me from drowning in my own thoughts.
“You’re not failing her,” she said softly.
But I sho
