Page 161 of Redemption
The sobs shake my shoulders as he whispers, “Hey. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
His voice is so unlike the man in my memories. It’s gentle and loving and only makes the sobs come harder.
Tears soak into his shirt as a cry for a boy who was lost long ago and one who’s lost now, and the whole time, I hope that they don’t meet the same fate.
“Shh…It’s okay.”
He holds me like that until there are no more tears left for me to cry. My eyes ache, and my posture is stiff, but still, I don’t pull out of his hold.
We sit like that—a father comforting a daughter—for a long time.
And when I pull back, he doesn’t fully let me go. His hand stays on my back, rubbing circles as he says, “Tell me how to help.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re doing it. You’re being my dad and not Dr. Harrison.”
He smiles at me, and it’s a little sad. I can see it in his eyes, the ones that are so similar to mine. “I guess I’ve earned that.”
I shrug, not really knowing what to say to that.
“Do you know that you are the first girl in my family in three generations?”
Nodding, I remain quiet, confused about where this is going.
It’s not like that was a secret. Every Christmas and family reunion, everyone would talk about how I was the one who went against the grain in the Harrison family. I guess that trait continued well after I was born. I didn’t fit in the moment I entered the world.
“Did you know that when I held you in my arms the day you were born, I promised myself that I would learn to be the very best girl dad?”
“No,” I croak, my throat feeling raw from all the tears.
“I tried—I really did. But somewhere along the way, I let myself lose sight of that promise I made to you that day. I let my own family’s expectations smother out what should have been important to me. I fell into the generational curses that seem to follow my family—working and keeping up appearances. But I don’t want to do that anymore, Mallorie Jade. I want to do better—I want to be better.”
Tears stream down his cheeks, slipping between the wrinkles and working down his neck.
Working as a nurse, I’ve watched plenty of people cry. At some point, you harden yourself against it because if you don’t, it will ruin you. But sitting here watching tears pour down my dad’s face, I realize that nothing could harden me against this.
“Dad—”
“No, listen—at the soup kitchen, I was—what I mean is—” he clears his throat and tries again. “Your mistakes were not the ones I was talking about. I think I made you believe that God’s love is conditional because that’s how I’ve loved you—how I loved your brother. It’s how my parents loved me, but God’s taught me it isn’t true. God’s love doesn’t have constraints, and thankfully, his forgiveness doesn’t either because I need a lot of forgiveness. I was supposed to be your protector—your brother’s too—and I failed you. And I guess—I guess I’m just asking if you can forgive me, too?”
Can I forgive him?
I’ve forgiven my mom, but that’s because she proved she was willing to work on our relationship together. My dad has fallen into the same patterns as before—never being home, never trying to get to know me—.
Except he did.
He came to my room that day, asking why I became a nurse. Maybe that was him reaching his hand out, and I slapped it away.
Realization stabs in my chest, crushing my ribs.
Isn’t that what I’ve been doing to God, too—pushing him away when he’s been reaching out his hand?
That’s what Silas had been trying to say—what he’d been trying to get Hayes to see.
No matter how little I’ve deserved it, God’s been right there, reaching out his hand.
I didn’t see him moving the chess pieces in my life to get me here. This moment with my dad, Benton Falls, my mom, Hayes—everything has been leading to my healing, and not just healing from my brother’s death, but a healing from the constraints I’ve placed on myself—and God.
I always hated that it felt like I was shoved in a box—made to squeeze myself into even if it meant breaking off pieces—but I never realized I was in a box of my own making.
