That hit me strangely, because Daniel almost never talked about his father. In ten years together, I could count the times he had mentioned that man on one hand. And whenever he did, there was anger, dryness, or that hard emptiness of someone pretending an old wound had stopped hurting.
“Your father?” I asked carefully. “The same father who abandoned you when you were a teenager? The same one you said you wouldn’t visit even if he were dying?”
“Yes.”
I looked through the store window at Owen and Lily sitting on the bench, sharing a pack of cookies from the mall convenience store. So calm. So safe. And my chest tightened, because whatever the truth was, it always seemed to reach them somehow.
“Continue,” I said.
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“Thursday night, I got a call from Mercy General in Trenton. They said he had been admitted in critical condition. Kidney failure, infection, blood pressure crashing. He was alone. He had no one else.”
“And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I panicked.”
“Panic does not justify buying lies in bulk, Daniel.”
He stayed quiet for a moment before continuing.
