Chapter 25
Chapter 25: The Father's Peace
Autumn brought a stunning explosion of color to the forest. The air turned crisp, smelling of woodsmoke and turning leaves.
My father drove up to visit us on a weekend in late October.
He didn't look like the hardened federal agent who had pulled me from the lobby of the syndicate's headquarters. He wore a heavy knit sweater and worn-in boots. The deep, stress-carved lines around his eyes had softened remarkably.
We sat on the wooden dock extending into the lake, fishing rods resting loosely in our hands. The water was perfectly still, reflecting the amber and crimson trees like a mirror.
We hadn't spoken in twenty minutes. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence; it was the rare, profound quiet of two men who no longer had to speak in codes or watch their backs.
"I sold the house in D.C.," my father said suddenly, keeping his eyes on his red and white bobber floating in the water.
I looked at him. "You did?"
"I don't need it anymore," he replied. "There are too many ghosts in that city. Too many locked doors. I bought a cabin a few miles north of here."
He turned his head and looked at me. His expression was open, vulnerable—a stark contrast to the stoic mask he had worn my entire childhood to protect us from his dangerous world.
"I'm done fighting other people's wars," he said softly. "I just want to be near my family."
I felt a sudden tightness in my throat. I reeled my line in slightly, the mechanical clicking of the reel breaking the silence.
May you like
"We'd like that, Dad," I said. "We'd like that very much."
He smiled, turning back to the water. The generational trauma, the secrets, the betrayal—it was all finally washing away with the tide.
