WHEN MY FATHER LEFT me the message with his address I knew it was time.
It has been a long time since I have sat in the same room as my father.
Today as I take the car up to the fiftieth floor, his penthouse suite in Washington DC, I know I am done hiding and he is done waiting.
Doors open, with a familiar painting greeting me as I enter the passage way.
The red and blue splashes, twirled around a half naked form reminds me of the man I left a few hours ago.
Charcoal walls run through the house as I walk down the passage way and turn right into my father's office space.
I knock on the closed white door.
“Come in Kylie,” His voice takes me off kilter, it has been so long.
I have always had a close relationship with my father, until I had something to hide.
That was almost three yea
