"Jonathan, she called me asking for money. I paid the nursing agency. What exactly is there to discuss?"
He paused.
Then he said something that made me understand how little had changed.
"You know, you could try being part of the family instead of acting like an outsider."
I closed my eyes.
"I was eighteen when I became an outsider."
"That was a long time ago."
"Yes. It was."
He sighed.
"You're still holding on to that?"
I almost told him everything.
I almost reminded him about the garbage bag, the fireplace, and the smile on his face.
But I stopped.
Because I finally understood something.
People who benefit from a distorted version of the past rarely have any interest in correcting it.
"I have to go," I said.
"Victoria—"
"Take care of Dad."
I ended the call.
That evening, Daniel noticed I was unusually quiet.
He found me sitting alone outside the barracks.
"Bad news?"
"Family."
He nodded.
"That can be worse."
I smiled faintly.
"Sometimes."
He sat beside me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked, "Have you ever thought about visiting home?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Not even for your father?"
I looked toward the dark sky.
"I speak to him."
"That's not what I asked."
I knew he was right.
But returning to Ashford Bay meant returning to the place where everything had happened.
It meant seeing my mother.
Seeing Jonathan.
Walking through the streets where I had once been a frightened eighteen-year-old with nowhere to sleep.
I wasn't ready.
And I didn't know whether I ever would be.
A month later, I received a letter from my father.
It contained only three paragraphs.
He wrote that he was proud of my progress.
He wrote that he had recently found an old photograph of me wearing my first Navy uniform.
And then he wrote something unexpected.
I know you have built a good life, Victoria. But I hope one day you will understand that leaving home did not mean you stopped belonging to me.
I read the letter twice.
Then I placed it inside my desk drawer.
That night, I made a decision.
I would continue building my career.
I would continue helping my father.
But I would no longer allow my mother's behavior to determine how I felt about my own life.
The following morning, I submitted my application for the next command opportunity.
I was twenty-four.
I had no idea how far I would eventually rise.
I only knew that I was no longer running away from my childhood.
I was finally moving toward something of my own.
And somewhere in Ashford Bay, my father was quietly preparing the one thing that would eventually bring us all face to face again.
My father called me on a Tuesday morning in early October.
I was preparing for a briefing when my telephone rang.
His name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
"Good morning, Dad."
There was no response.
I frowned.
"Dad?"
Then I heard his breathing.
Slow.
Uneven.
"Victoria?"
"I'm here."
"I need to talk to you."
Something in his voice made me sit down.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
He paused.
"Well, not entirely."
I looked toward the office door.
"Have you spoken to your doctor?"
"Yes. George took me yesterday."
"What did they say?"
He sighed.
"That I need to be careful."
I closed my eyes.
My father's health had been declining for years, but every new conversation seemed to bring another reminder that time was becoming less generous.
"Are you taking your medication?"
"Yes."
"Are you eating properly?"
He chuckled weakly.
"Your mother still thinks I eat too much."
I smiled.
For a few seconds, we returned to the familiar rhythm of our conversations.
Then he became serious again.
"Victoria, I want you to come home."
The words caught me off guard.
I stared at the papers on my desk.
"Home?"
"To Ashford Bay."
I did not answer immediately.
He continued.
"I know it's difficult."
"Dad, you know I have responsibilities."
"I know."
"And I can't just leave whenever I want."
"I understand."
His voice became quieter.
"But I would like to see you."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"When?"
"Soon."
"How soon?"
He hesitated.
"Before winter, if possible."
I looked at the calendar.
My next leave period was scheduled for six weeks later.
"I'll see what I can arrange."
He exhaled.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
We talked for another ten minutes.
Before ending the call, he said something that I did not understand at the time.
"Victoria, there are things about our family that you don't know."
I frowned.
"What things?"
"Things I should have told you years ago."
"Then tell me now."
He was silent.
Finally, he said, "Not over the telephone."
I leaned forward.
"Dad, you're worrying me."
"I'm sorry."
"Is this about Mom?"
He gave a tired laugh.
"Some of it."
I waited.
But he did not continue.
Instead, he asked whether I still had the old compass.
I reached into my desk drawer.
It was there.
"I do."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because some things should stay with you."
Then he ended the call.
I sat there for several minutes.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
That evening, I contacted George Miller.
He answered on the second ring.
"Victoria."
"George, I spoke to Dad this morning."
"How is he?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
George sighed.
"He's been having a difficult time."
"How difficult?"
"He's weaker. The doctor says his condition is progressing."
I gripped the telephone.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Your father didn't want you worrying."
"George, I'm his daughter."
"I know."
"Then please don't protect me from the truth."
There was a long silence.
Finally, George spoke.
"Your father has been meeting with an attorney."
I sat upright.
"What attorney?"
"Richard Bennett."
I knew the name.
Richard had handled some of my father's affairs years earlier.
"Why?"
"I don't know everything. But Thomas asked me to take him to his office several times."
"What were they discussing?"
"Documents. Financial matters. His final instructions."
My throat tightened.
"Is Dad preparing his will?"
"Among other things."
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I could hear nothing except the sound of the air conditioner.
"Does Mom know?"
George gave a quiet laugh.
"No."
I opened my eyes.
"Why not?"
"Because your father specifically asked that she not be involved in those meetings."
That was unlike the man I remembered.
My father had always tried to avoid conflict.
He rarely made decisions without considering how my mother would react.
Now he was meeting a lawyer secretly.
And apparently, he had been doing it for some time.
"George, what is he planning?"
"I promised him I wouldn't discuss it."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Does he want me to come home?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll come."
I checked my leave schedule.
There was a training exercise approaching, but I could request a short period away.