KYLER
There is a moment of silence as I process my father's admission that he does not remember our family. The gravity of this revelation hangs heavy between us like a dense fog, and my heart aches, but I keep my face composed, knowing it is not his fault, and he does not need us to fall apart right now, but to be strong for him.
He rests his hand on my arm, his touch warm and familiar despite the circumstances, and it brings me back to reality. “I’m sorry, son,” he says, his voice trembling slightly and I look at him to notice a sad, fearful look in his eyes, which twists my heart even more.
“I’m sure my memories will come back,” he adds, though his tone lacks conviction. “But if they don’t, I’ll do whatever I can to get to know my family again. To get to know you, Kyler.”
I do no
