Page 9 of Reclaimed Roots

"He did. And he'd want us to... figure out the best path forward."

Uncertainty clouded Mom's eyes. "Natalie, we need to discuss the future of the firm. Whether to sell or..."

She trailed off, but I knew what she was hinting at. The possibility of me taking over had been hanging in the air since Dad's diagnosis.

But everything happened so fast.

I wrapped my hands tighter around my mug. "I know, Mom. And I'm not sure what the right answer is. But I think going to the office, being in that space, it might give us some clarity."

It was a lie. I'd already made my decision. Sort out the accounts. Get all the documentation in order. Sell the business.

But she wasn't ready to hear that. I'd break it to her eventually.

"You're right." Mom leaned over and squeezed my hand. "Your father always said you had a good head on your shoulders. He had so much faith in you, Natalie. In your strength, your resilience."

I shifted in my seat and tightened my grip on my mug. "I hope I can live up to that. To him."

"You already do, honey. Every single day."

We finished our tea in contemplative silence. Then we gathered our things and headed to the heart of Sable Point.

The bell above the door jingled as Mom and I walked into the modest brick building that housed Choi Accounting. At one time, that sound was comforting, now it set my teeth on edge.

Jeanette, Dad's secretary of twenty years, greeted us with red-rimmed eyes. "It just hit me all over again when I came into work today and he wasn't here." She hugged Mom tightly before composing herself. "I know I've said it a hundred times at this point, but I'm so darn sorry for your loss. Ed was the best boss I ever had. The best man."

Mom returned her embrace and patted her gently on the back. "Thank you, Jeanette. He adored you, you know."

Jeanette tutted and waved a flappy hand. "I hear you've been making quite the name for yourself in Chicago, Miss Natalie." She shot me an appraising look as she continued. "Your dad was so proud—always bragging about his hotshot daughter in the big city."

Another wave of regret seeped over me, leaving me hot and queasy. How many family occasions had I blown off while climbing the corporate ladder? Repeatedly telling myself I'd do better next year. Now it was too late. I could never reclaim that time now that Dad was gone.

"I don't know about hotshot," I managed, glancing at Mom before turning back to Jeanette. "But I did learn from the best." An uncomfortable silence settled between the three of us—like we were all waiting for Dad to stroll through the door. "Maybe we should..." I gestured toward his office.

"Of course." Jeanette nodded and stepped aside to let us through. "I haven't touched anything. It's all just as he left it."

Mom's hand trembled slightly while turning the doorknob to Dad's office—a room frozen in time, with its heavy oak desk, wall of filing cabinets, and framed photos capturing our family history through the years. Mom and Dad at their wedding, the father-daughter dance in second grade, our first trip to Seoul.

A photographic timeline of my achievements—high school graduation, where I'd been named valedictorian; college graduation, where I'd earned summa cum laude; adinner celebrating my first big promotion after only nine months on the job.

And there, in the midst of the memories, was the cluttered desk and Dad's worn leather chair. For a second, I saw him sitting there, glasses perched on his nose as he poured over a ledger.

But the chair was empty. And it would stay that way.

Mom moved to the wall of filing cabinets, running her fingers over the labels. "Thirty years of clients. He cared for every account like it was his own money."

Pride and pain twisted inside me. "He was the best at what he did."

"He really was."

Mom and I settled ourselves in his office. By unspoken agreement, we each took a guest chair, leaving Dad's seat vacant. Our first task was to clear the desk, emptying drawers and sifting through loose papers. It was mundane work on the surface, but the finality of it pressed on my chest.

As we worked, Mom shared stories—little anecdotes and memories of Dad. The time he worked until midnight to help a client facing an audit. The way he'd always buy Girl Scout cookies from every kid who came to the office, even though he was trying to watch his sugar. His corny jokes that never failed to make his clients laugh.

Listening to her, absorbing these glimpses into the daily rhythms of his life, it was a strange mix of comforting and gut-wrenching. Each story was a precious insight, but it was also a reminder of the moments we'd lost, all the new memories we'd never get to make.

"Remember that time Jasper and I came here after school and hid in the bathroom until Dad walked in?" I asked. "Oh my gosh, Mom. I don't think I'd ever heard Dad scream as loud as he did when we jumped out at him."

Mom and I burst into a fit of giggles, breaking the somber mood.

---