Three days later, Dad took me to the quiet cemetery on the hill.
He walked slowly, never letting go of my hand.
His hand was big and warm, calloused from years of working with fabric and scissors.
We stopped in front of Mom's headstone.
Mom was smiling in the photo, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Dad stood there staring at it for a very long time.
He reached out and touched her face in the photo with his fingertip, so gently it looked like he was afraid he'd break her.
"Elara, I'm here."
The wind blew through the oak trees, carrying a few fallen leaves across the grass.
"I'm sorry it took me so long.
"I'm sorry... I hated you for six years for no reason."
He didn't make a sound, but tears fell one by one, splattering against the cold stone.
"Why didn't you tell me? I would
