I heard my daughter whisper "I miss you, Daddy" on the phone – I buried her father 18 years ago

"It's 18 years of alimony, Charles," I said coldly. "Not through court, but through a private agreement. You say you care? Well, prove it."

He grimaced, but was wise enough not to argue.

“I'll pay,” he said after a long pause.

"Okay," I stood up and grabbed my bag. "Then, and only then, will we talk about whether Susie wants to see you again."

He didn't chase me. He didn't fight. He just nodded, defeated, his eyes heavy with acceptance of the lost years.

Months have passed, the seasons have changed.

Charles paid for everything without apologizing.

Susie began calling him more often. What had begun as cold, hesitant exchanges gradually softened. Their conversations stretched from minutes to hours. Sometimes I heard her laugh, awkwardly at first, then more naturally, more casually.

Laughter. They'd been absent from conversations about him for so long.

Finally, the inevitable happened. They met face to face.

It wasn't a meeting filled with tears and apologies. No, it was calm. Cautious. Father and daughter sat across from each other in cafes or ice cream parlors that held no memories. They chose places that wouldn't remind them of all the years they'd lost.

They talked. At first about small things. School. Music. Books.

Then deeper things. They kept me aside, I watched from the sidelines. Protective. Cautious. But strangely relieved.

Susie asked her tough questions. She didn't hold back.

"Why did you leave?"

"Did you love your mom?"

"Have you thought about us?"

I never asked him what he'd said. It wasn't my place to know anymore. That road, however winding and potholed, belonged to them.