Then Emily spoke again.
"You have some nerve calling me after all these years."
Arthur's face crumpled.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why now?"
Arthur looked at the photograph resting on his lap.
"Because tomorrow is your birthday."
Emily let out a bitter laugh.
"You remembered?"
"Every year."
"Then where were you for eleven years?"
Arthur couldn't answer.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
Emily's voice became colder.
"Don't come looking for me, Dad. I have a life now. I don't need you coming back and pretending everything is fine."
"Emily, please—"
The call ended.
Arthur continued holding the phone against his ear.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He simply stared through the windshield as though the entire world had suddenly disappeared.
Daniel returned to the window.
"Sir?"
Arthur slowly lowered the phone.
"She's still angry."
Daniel looked at him.
"Maybe she has a reason."
Arthur nodded.
"She does."
Then he carefully folded the photograph and placed it back inside the glove compartment.
Daniel was about to ask whether Arthur needed medical assistance when he noticed something written on the back of the photograph.
It was a short sentence in faded blue ink.
IF I EVER GET ANOTHER CHANCE, I HOPE SHE'LL LET ME EXPLAIN.
Daniel read it twice.
Then he looked at Arthur.
"Mr. Bennett, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you and your daughter stop speaking?"
Arthur stared at the road ahead.
His answer came so quietly that Daniel almost didn't hear it.
"Because eleven years ago, I was the one driving the car."
Daniel went still.
Arthur's hands began trembling again.
"And my wife was sitting in the passenger seat."
A gust of wind swept across the highway.
Somewhere in the distance, a truck sounded its horn.
Daniel looked at the old man.
"What happened to your wife?"
Arthur turned toward him.
His eyes were full of grief.
"She never made it home."
And then he said something that made Daniel forget about the traffic violation entirely.
"Emily thinks I killed her mother on purpose."
Daniel looked at Arthur for a long moment.
The old man had just confessed something that could explain eleven years of silence, but he didn't seem like someone who wanted sympathy.
He looked like a man who had already punished himself enough.
"Mr. Bennett," Daniel said carefully, "did the police investigate the accident?"
"Of course."
"And what did they find?"
Arthur stared at the road.
"They found that I had been driving. They found that the car had crossed the center line. They found that my wife had suffered severe injuries."
He swallowed.
"And they found that I survived."
Daniel waited.
"Was alcohol involved?"
"No."
"Drugs?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
Arthur rubbed his trembling hands together.
"It was raining that night. My wife, Margaret, and I were returning from a family dinner. We had argued before leaving."
"About what?"
"Emily."
Arthur looked toward the photograph.
"She was seventeen. She wanted to leave home and study photography in another city. Margaret supported her. I didn't."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"I thought she was too young. I thought she needed discipline. I said some terrible things."
Arthur's voice cracked.
"Margaret told me that if I continued treating our daughter like a prisoner, one day Emily would leave and never come back."
He paused.
"She was right."
A car passed them, its tires hissing against the wet road.
"After the argument, I drove too fast. Margaret asked me to slow down. I didn't listen. Then a truck appeared around a bend."
Arthur closed his eyes.
"I turned the wheel. The car spun. I remember glass breaking. I remember Margaret calling my name."
His breathing became uneven.
"When I woke up, she was gone."
Daniel glanced at the medical bracelet again.
"Did Emily blame you?"
Arthur nodded.
"She was standing outside the hospital room when the doctor told her. She looked at me and asked why I had killed her mother."
"Was that the last time you saw her?"
"No. I saw her at the funeral. She wouldn't let me stand beside her. After that, she moved away."
"Did you try to contact her?"
"Every year. Letters. Birthday cards. Messages. She returned most of them."
Arthur looked down.
"Eventually, I stopped sending them because I didn't want her to feel that I was forcing myself into her life."
Daniel thought about his own father.
He had died when Daniel was fourteen, leaving behind a house full of unfinished projects and a family that never quite recovered.
He wondered what it would feel like to have a father alive somewhere in the world, still waiting for a chance to speak.
"Mr. Bennett, you shouldn't drive if you're feeling unwell. Let me call someone."
Arthur shook his head.
"I don't have anyone else."
Daniel looked at the old man's face.
"Then I'll help you get somewhere safe."
He contacted dispatch and explained the situation. After confirming Arthur's license and registration, he decided not to issue a citation.
Instead, he arranged for a local medical transport service to meet them at a nearby gas station.
Arthur protested.
"I can drive."
"Maybe you can. But I don't think you should."
The old man gave a faint smile.
"You sound like my wife."
Daniel almost smiled back.
"She sounds like she was a wise woman."
"She was."
Before leaving, Arthur reached for the photograph.
"Officer, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"If your father were still alive, and you knew you had hurt him, would you forgive him?"
Daniel looked away.
"I don't know."
Arthur nodded.
"That's fair."
Then he added:
"But don't wait eleven years to decide."
The words stayed with Daniel long after the ambulance arrived.
He watched the old man being helped into the vehicle.
As the doors closed, Arthur pressed his hand against the window.