Chapter 74: A Father’s Determination

The soft rays of morning sunlight seeped through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. I woke up to the gentle rhythm of my mother's breathing, her arms wrapped securely around me. The warmth of her embrace made me feel safe—like nothing in the world could ever harm me again.

I sighed softly, burying my face into the fabric of her nightgown. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay like this forever, in her arms, away from the world that had once hurt me. But as much as I wanted to ignore it, morning had arrived, and with it, the reality that I wasn't alone in this house.

Shifting slightly, I peeked over at my father. He was awake. I could tell by the way he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together as he watched me. There was something in his eyes—something deep, something painful. I didn't know what it was, but it made my stomach feel funny. It made me feel... unsure.

He gave me a small smile, hesitant, almost fragile, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be happy to see me awake. "Good morning, buddy," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

I stared at him for a moment before shifting closer to Mama. I didn't answer. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but… I didn't know how. Talking to him still felt strange, like stepping onto ice that might crack beneath me.

Mama stirred at my movement, her arms instinctively tightening around me. When she opened her eyes, her smile was instant and filled with warmth. "Good morning, my love," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Did you sleep well?"

I nodded, clinging to her. Her presence was my comfort, my home.

My sisters, sprawled across the massive bed, slowly began waking up too, their sleepy murmurs filling the air. One by one, they greeted me, kissing my forehead, ruffling my hair, whispering sweet words that made my heart feel full.

And then, there was Papa. Still sitting there. Still watching. Still waiting.

After a few moments, he let out a breath and stood up. "I made breakfast," he said, his voice gentle. "I wanted to do something special today. I… I thought maybe I could make pancakes for you."

Mama and my sisters exchanged glances. I could see something in their eyes—understanding, sadness. They knew. They knew how hard he was trying.

I didn't know what to say. My hands gripped the blanket tightly. Pancakes. He made pancakes for me? Did he really? A long time ago, I used to dream about having breakfast with him. About sitting at the table like other children did with their fathers. But that was before. Before everything. Before the loneliness, before the pain, before the cold nights where I waited for him to come back—but he never did.

Still, something inside me stirred. Something small. Something fragile.

Mama rubbed my back soothingly. "Sweetheart, do you want to try Papa's pancakes?" she asked, her voice careful, patient. She never pushed me. She never forced me. She always let me decide.

I hesitated. My heart felt heavy, but… I nodded. Just a little.

Papa's breath hitched slightly, like he hadn't expected me to agree. "Okay," he said quickly, his voice filled with quiet hope. "I-I'll get everything ready."

I watched as he left the room, his steps a little hurried, like he was afraid I might change my mind. My sisters didn't say anything, but they all looked at me, their eyes soft and full of love. Mama kissed my forehead once more. "I'm so proud of you, my love," she whispered.

I wasn't sure what I had done to make her proud. I hadn't really done anything. But somehow, her words made my chest feel warm.

When we arrived in the dining room, the table was already set. A plate of golden pancakes sat in front of me, perfectly stacked, syrup drizzled just the way I liked. It was… strange. Surreal. Something I never thought would happen. Papa stood beside the table, his hands fidgeting nervously.

"I-I used to make these for you when you were really little," he said, his voice uncertain. "I don't know if you remember, but… you loved them."

I stared at the pancakes. I didn't remember. Or maybe I did, but I didn't want to. I wasn't sure. Everything from before felt so blurry, like a dream I had tried to forget.

Mama gently squeezed my hand, grounding me. My sisters smiled encouragingly. Slowly, I picked up the fork, cutting a small piece, hesitating for just a moment before placing it in my mouth.

It was warm. Sweet. Soft. Just like how I imagined a father's love was supposed to feel.

Papa watched me carefully, his expression unreadable. "Do you… do you like it?"

I swallowed, my fingers gripping the fork tightly. I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know how I felt. But something in his voice, in his eyes, made my heart ache.

I gave a tiny nod.

For a second, he looked like he was about to cry, but he quickly blinked the emotion away, a smile breaking across his face—genuine, relieved, so full of love that it made my chest tighten.

"Thank you, Noah," he whispered. "Thank you."

I didn't understand why he was thanking me. I hadn't done anything. But as I took another small bite, I felt something shift inside me.

Maybe… just maybe… I could give him a chance.