I cleaned the house, dressed up, set the table, but no one came. Still, I waited until the very end for my daughter and son-in-law.

When my daughter Charlotte was six years old, my wife passed away. After that, nothing was ever the same. At her funeral, I promised my wife I would look after our daughter and love her enough for both of us, for as long as I lived. My Charlotte grew into a clever girl. She did well at school, helped me at home, and cooked just like her mumdelicious, honestly, good enough to rival any pub lunch.
As time went on, Charlotte started university. Her grades dropped a bit, but it didnt matter because my daughter was working part-time and still found time to help me with housework. Eventually, Charlotte met Simon, and soon enough she introduced him to me. He seemed a decent bloke, and I was chuffed when the two of them told me they wanted to carry on living with me once they were married.
But after the wedding, everything went downhill. My son-in-law became rude, offensive, and would shout at me all the time.
Thats why, when my daughter suggested we sell our two-bedroom house and buy a larger flat in London, I agreed, but with one condition: the flat had to be put in my name. As expected, my son-in-law started yelling, accusing me of not trusting him. I told them outright, I needed some security; I couldnt risk ending up out on the street in my old age. When Im gone, the place would be theirs and they could do as they like with it.
My daughter and her husband packed up their things, hurled every insult they could think of at me, and two days later they moved to the city.
After that, Charlotte seemed to forget I existed, though deep down I hoped shed understand one day and stop being so cross. A few months later, it was my birthdaymy 60th. I was sure Charlotte would surprise me, so I tidied the whole house, cooked up all of Charlottes favourite dishes, got smartly dressed and sat at the table. I spent the entire day waiting, glancing through the window, hoping to see the gate swing open and Charlotte to walk through.
I waited for her until evening came. Eventually, I got changed and went to bed, leaving all the food untouched on the table. I cried, talked to my late wifes photo, and dont even remember how I fell asleep. Was my daughter so upset with me that she couldnt even ring and wish me happy birthday? Or had something happened to her? No, my Charlotte couldnt possibly have forgotten her old dad that easilyThe following morning, I shuffled into the kitchen to clear away the untouched plates. The silence felt heavier than ever. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I hesitated, wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeve, and opened the door just a crack.
Charlotte stood on the step, her arms wound protectively around herself. Her eyes were red, her hair messyshe looked so small again, like the frightened child Id once comforted in the night. Behind her, the rising sun swept gold across her face.
Im sorry, Dad, she whispered, voice trembling. I shouldve come sooner. Can I come in?
There are moments in life when forgiveness happens before words. I reached out, pulling her to me, feeling her heart beating fast against my chest. For the first time in months, the ache Id carried loosenedjust a little.
She handed me a lopsided card shed drawn herself, like she did when she was eight. Inside it, her handwriting wobbled: Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you. I understand, now.
When I let her into the kitchen, she gasped at the feast waiting cold on the table. We sat together, reheating leftovers, laughing at the burnt edges, sharing the warmth that had always tethered us.
Outside, the birds began their morning chorus. I looked at my daughter, saw her tired eyes, and realized that even grief and anger cant outlast love, not truly. As long as we had each other, there was hope enough for both of us.