Chapter 14 - Quoting My Father Cold Birthday Words Back Home
I stood in the doorway of my peaceful Maine farmhouse, looking down at my weeping father in the snow. The silence between us stretched out for several long seconds, broken only by the distant crashing waves.
"Dad, do you remember what you said to me six months ago when I called from the hospital?" I asked evenly. My father blinked rapidly, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he tried to piece together his memories.
"I... I was stressed, Sienna, I didn't mean—" he stammered defensively. "Let me remind you verbatim," I interrupted, my voice cutting through the wind like a razor blade.
"Sienna, Friday is your sister’s birthday dinner. That reservation has been booked for weeks... We can’t come."
My father went completely gray, his lips parting in silent horror as my words echoed back to him.
"Julian and my children were lying in a morgue, and you couldn't be bothered to drive across town," I whispered fiercely. "You chose a birthday reservation over your own flesh and blood."
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"Sienna, please, I was wrong—" he begged, falling to his knees on the wooden porch boards. "Today is your financial reckoning, Dad," I replied coldly. "And just like you told me on the phone—we can’t help you."
With that, I closed the heavy wooden door in his face and slid the deadbolt locked with a definitive click.
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