EPILOGUE: Eight Letters
I never took another travel contract.
Instead, I took a job at a hospital twenty minutes from Dad’s house. We installed a new AC unit and painted the garage door bright blue, so he’d never have to look at it the same way again.
Lupe from across the street brings him the crossword every morning.
Last week, Dad finished one in pen and slid it across the kitchen table to me.
Eight letters. “Someone who comes back for you.”
He’d written MARISOL.
It didn’t fit.
He didn’t care.
THE END.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
