When Allie hears her daughter whisper “I miss you, Dad” into the landline, she is so surprising. Her husband has passed away for 18 years, or so she thought. As upset truths unravel, Allie is forced to face the past and the lie that changed their entire lives.
My husband passed away when our daughter, Susie, was just two weeks old.
A car accident. Sudden, brutal, and senseless. One minute, Charles was kissing my forehead as he left for a quick grocery run. The next, I was clutching a police officer’s hand, struggling to process words that didn’t make sense.
He was gone. Just like that.
I was 23. I held a newborn in my arms who needed more than my broken self could offer. That’s when Diane, Charles’s mother, stepped in.
I never saw his body.
I told myself that it didn’t matter. D3ad was d3ad, right?
Eighteen years passed. And somehow, I survived them.
Susie grew up kind. She was sensitive in ways that sometimes broke me. She had Charles’s eyes, those soft brown eyes, always searching the world.
As she grew older, her questions came like whispers in the night.
“What was Dad like?” she’d say.
I told her about his awful dad jokes that made me roll my eyes. Photos of his boyish grin.
She accepted them, but I could feel the space behind her eyes. The space where real knowing should have lived.
It happened on an ordinary Tuesday evening. I was walking past the hallway when I heard Susie’s voice. It was low, tender, and she was whispering through the landline.
“Okay… I miss you too, Dad.”
My entire body froze.
Dad. Dad?!
“Who were you talking to?” I asked carefully.
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Wrong number,” she whispered
Wrong number? No. Not that soft tone. Not Dad.
The landline’s call log wasn’t hard to access. There it was. A number I didn’t recognize.
I stared at it for a long time before dialing.
“Susie,” the voice murmured.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t call again tonight.”
I couldn’t think.
“Who is this?” I asked.
Silence followed. Thick and deliberate.
Click.
The line went d3ad.
The next morning, after a night of pacing and imagining every horrifying scenario, I confronted Susie at breakfast.
“Sit down,” I said.
“I heard what you said yesterday,” my voice shook despite my best efforts. “Please, sweetheart. No more lies.”
Minutes later, she returned clutching a pale, creased envelope.
I opened it slowly. Charles.
“My name is Charles. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve finally built the courage to reach out. I’m your father.”
“I’ve been following your life from a distance. I panicked when you were born. I wasn’t ready. My mother helped me disappear. I thought I was doing the right thing. I see now that I was wrong. I’d like to talk. If you want to.”
At the bottom was a phone number.
“How did you find him?” I asked softly. “Did he find you?”
“I found him online months ago. I didn’t want to tell you. He did send the letter first but I wanted to see him on socials first. I needed to look at his photos and see if there was a part of me in them. I needed to know that this wasn’t a hoax. I needed to know if I had his eyes or smile… I have his eyes, Mom.”
She paused.
“Then, I called him on the number in the letter.”
“Do you want to keep talking to him?” I asked after a long beat.
“I do. I want to know why he did it. I want to hear it from him,” Susie nodded.
Two days later, I called Charles myself. He answered immediately.
“We need to meet,” I said, my voice low and cold.
We chose a neutral coffee shop.
He was already there when I arrived.
Older. Gaunt. His face carved with lines of exhaustion.
He looked human. Ordinary.
And I hated that.
“You didn’t just disappear from me,”
“You disappeared from her. For 18 years.”
“I know,” he flinched.
“You could’ve come back at any time,” I pressed, my anger sharp now. “She wasn’t a baby forever.”
“I thought about it every year,” he admitted quietly. “But I always convinced myself you’d both be better off.”
“Mom and I haven’t spoken in years,” he added softly. “What she did… I don’t know if I can ever forgive her either.”
“You can’t forgive her? Your mother? Like she was the only one with a part to play here… You chose this, Charles.”
“I did, Allie,” he said.
“But a week after that fake funeral, I wanted to come back. I wanted to explain everything. But my mother wanted to save herself. She had pulled too many strings at the Mayor’s office… if they found out the truth, she would have been out. ”
“And you chose her,” I said simply.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“I’m here to make amends, Allie,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I’ve missed you. Us. Her… I’ve missed your love.”
Times passed.
Charles paid every single month. Without fail and without any excuses.
Susie started calling him more often.
They talked. About small things at first. School. Music. Books.
Susie asked him the hard questions. She didn’t shy away at all.
“Why did you leave?”
“Did you love Mom?”
“Did you think about us?”
I never asked what he said in response.
I was freer than I had been in years. But now, I understand something important.
The weight I carried all those years wasn’t just grief. It was the lie.
The lie that he was gone. The lie that I had been left with no choice but to mourn. The lie that I had been abandoned by death when really, I had been abandoned by choice.
Charles wasn’t a hero. Not in his leaving and not in his return.
But he wasn’t a villain either. He was a man. Weak. Flawed. Human.
And Charles?
Well, he’s still learning. Learning how to be present. How to show up. How to stitch something fragile from the wreckage he left behind.
