A Strange Father’s Day Morning
Father’s Day arrived like it always did. Pancakes. Terrible handmade cards. Way too much syrup. The perfect morning.
But something felt different.
Hazel and Iris kept exchanging nervous glances. Every time I looked at them, they quickly looked away.
I noticed immediately. After eighteen years, fathers notice everything.
Finally, while we sat around the kitchen table, Hazel reached for my hand. Her fingers trembled.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
She looked at Iris. Iris nodded.
Then Hazel swallowed hard.
“Please don’t be mad.”
Instantly my stomach tightened. Mad? About what?
“Dad,” Iris added softly, “we’ve been keeping a secret from you all these years.”
A secret? My mind went somewhere terrible. Had they contacted their mother? Had she come back? Had she been secretly meeting with them after everything we’d been through?
I felt sick.
“What secret?” I asked.
Before either of them could answer—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
The girls jumped. Then looked at each other.
My heart started pounding. No. No way. It couldn’t be. Could it?
I walked toward the front door with shaking hands. Every step felt heavier than the last.
I grabbed the handle. Opened the door.
And froze.
