Chapter 23 - The Last Visit
Travis was sixty-eight when June called.
“Dad’s in hospital.”
She still used Dad.
Heart failure.
Serious.
Not necessarily dying.
“Do you want me?”
“No. I’m telling.”
Good.
Molly visited once.
I did not.
Then Travis requested through hospital social worker:
Would Emma accept a five-minute visit if she chooses? If no, do not ask again.
I said yes.
Why?
I did not know.
Andrew supported.
Hospital room.
Travis looked old.
Not dangerous.
But my body remembered.
I sat near door.
He smiled weakly.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Coming.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
He did not repeat.
Good.
I asked:
“Were you ever going to tell me without getting caught?”
He thought.
“No.”
Truth.
“Even after Samuel?”
“If he had lived, maybe I would have kept lying because boy made me feel safer.”
That hurt.
“Then what would happen when girls learned?”
“I didn’t think that far.”
Of course.
Then:
“Do you think your mother loved me?”
He smiled sadly.
“In her way.”
“Bad answer.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“She respected you less because you made me question her.”
There.
Then:
“Did you hate daughters?”
“No.”
“You sounded.”
“I hated myself around them.”
Difference, not excuse.
Then I said:
“I forgive you.”
The words came out before planning.
Travis cried.
I did not.
Then:
“This does not make us friends.”
“I know.”
“You don’t come into my life.”
“I know.”
“June and Molly decide theirs.”
“I know.”
Then:
“Samuel remains dead.”
His face broke.
“I know.”
No absolution.
Then he asked:
“Can I tell you one thing?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad girls had you.”
That was all.
I stood.
He did not ask hug.
At door:
“Goodbye, Travis.”
“Goodbye, Emma.”
He died four months later after another cardiac event.
June at bedside.
Molly arrived afterward.
I did not.
No guilt.
His will:
Small house? He rented mostly. Retirement, savings around $96k.
Half Molly.
Half June.
No conditions.
Some personal tools to friend.
No money to me.
Good.
Molly accepted.
June accepted.
No forgiveness transaction.
Then funeral.
I attended because daughters wanted.
No eulogy from me.
Pastor said:
“Travis spent many years accountable for serious harm and later sought to live differently.”
Accurate.
No saint.
No erasure.
Molly cried.
June sobbed.
I cried once.
Andrew squeezed hand after asking with eyes.
Then someone from old Hayes family approached:
“You were his wife.”
“I was.”
“Did he really—”
Molly stepped:
“Not today.”
Good.
We left.
Then at home I took Samuel’s urn from shelf.
For decades I had not scattered.
Why?
Not sure.
I asked daughters.
“Ready?”
Molly:
“Where?”
We chose redbud grove in public botanical garden? Need permission. Better at our own backyard current home under redbud we planted.
We scattered ashes beneath tree with local rules? On private property yes.
Samuel no longer in urn.
No magic release.
Just choice.
Then I kept empty urn? No.
Donated? We placed in memory box? I disposed respectfully.
No shrine necessary.
Then Andrew asked:
“Story over?”
May you like
“Almost.”
There were still lives.
