Reunion

He was leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket. His hair was grayer than I remembered, and there were lines on his face that hadn't been there before. But it was him. There was no doubt about it.

My heart stopped, and I froze in place, my hands gripping the handles of Evana's wheelchair so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

"Benji?" Evana's voice broke through the haze of shock. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't answer. My throat felt like it was closing up, and my mind was racing with a thousand questions. What was he doing here? Why now? After all these years, why had he come back?

My father's eyes met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by something else—guilt, maybe, or regret. He took a step forward, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out.

I didn't wait to hear what he had to say. Without thinking, I turned Evana's wheelchair around and started walking in the opposite direction, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Benji, what's going on?" Evana asked, her voice filled with concern. "Who was that?"

I shook my head, unable to form the words. My mind was a jumble of emotions—anger, confusion, fear—and I couldn't make sense of any of them. All I knew was that I had to get away, to put as much distance between us and him as possible.

But before I could get far, I heard his voice behind me.

"Benji," he called, his voice rough and unfamiliar. "Wait. Please."

I stopped, my body tense. I didn't want to turn around, didn't want to face him, but something in his voice made me pause. Against my better judgment, I turned to look at him.

He was closer now, his hands raised as if in surrender. "I just… I need to talk to you," he said, his voice trembling. "Please."

I stared at him, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to make him explain why he had left us, why he had abandoned me and my mom when we needed him most. But another part of me—a smaller, quieter part—wanted to hear what he had to say.

Evana reached up and placed her hand on mine, her touch grounding me. "Benji," she said softly. "It's okay. You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. She was right. I didn't have to do this. Not now, not ever. But as I looked at my father, at the man who had once been my hero, I knew that I couldn't run away forever.

"Stay here," I said to Evana, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be right back."

She nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'll be here."

I stepped away from the wheelchair and walked toward my father, my heart pounding with every step. He watched me approach, his expression unreadable.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice cold and distant.

He flinched at my tone but didn't look away. "I just… I wanted to see you," he said. "To talk to you. I know I don't deserve it, but… I needed to try."

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to shield myself from the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "You left," I said, my voice shaking. "You left us. You didn't even say goodbye."

He nodded, his eyes filled with regret. "I know," he said. "And I'll never be able to make up for that. But I'm here now, and I want to explain. If you'll let me."

I stared at him, torn between the anger I had carried for so long and the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could finally get the closure I needed.

But before I could respond, a loud crash echoed through the street, followed by the sound of shouting. I turned just in time to see a car skidding out of control, heading straight for us.

"Benji!" Evana screamed, her voice filled with panic.

I didn't think. I just reacted, sprinting toward her as fast as I could. But I wasn't fast enough.

The car slammed into the lamppost, sending shards of glass and metal flying in every direction. I threw myself over Evana, shielding her from the debris as the world around us erupted into chaos.

When the dust settled, I looked up, my heart pounding in my chest. The car was crumpled against the lamppost, smoke rising from the hood. And my father…

He was lying on the ground, unmoving.

"Dad!" I shouted, my voice breaking.

But there was no response.