Delia Krikket unbuckled her seatbelt with trembling hands. She had arrived. She was in the hospital parking lot that young man—Tomás, she now recalled with some effort—had told her about. She couldn't get the intensity with which he had spoken to her out of her head. Rarely had anyone looked at her like that, with such a mix of shared pain and borrowed hope.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" her husband asked, his voice calm but clearly concerned.
Delia gave him a forced tender smile, trying to keep her lips from betraying the dizziness she felt. She nodded barely.
"Yes, it's fine. I might be back soon." She slowly opened the car door. "I love you."
"I love you too," he replied, not moving from his seat, watching her as she got out.
She closed the door and stood for a few seconds looking at the hospital building as if it were a mountain she had to climb without equipment or a guide. The cold morning air cut her skin; her clothes weren't warm enough for the icy draft that brushed her face. But it wasn't the weather that chilled her blood: it was the passage of time. The moment she had postponed her entire life had arrived. And she was alone.
Crossing the hospital doors, the shadow that had pursued her for years grew denser. The white walls, the smell of disinfectant, the constant murmur of muffled voices and nurses' footsteps—everything seemed unreal, as if she were walking inside a dream that, nevertheless, hurt.
"Good morning, I'm looking for Emanuel Krikket," she said at the reception, her voice trembling as if each word was a struggle to pull from her chest.
The receptionist looked up after adjusting her glasses. She observed her for a moment.
"Are you family?"
Delia hesitated. She swallowed. She bit her lip, ashamed, but finally replied:
"I'm his daughter... Delia Krikket. Do you need any identification?"
The woman shook her head with a kind smile.
"It's not necessary. It's visiting hours. Outside of hours, we only let family in. Room five hundred two. At the end of the hallway, take the elevator on your right."
"Thank you..."
Delia walked with uncertain steps. The echo of her heels on the tiled floor hammered in her skull. When she reached the designated floor, the air became thicker, denser. Her legs faltered. She had to sit on a bench against the wall to keep from collapsing.
A nurse approached with a concerned look, but Delia could only raise her hand and whisper: "I'm fine." And it was true. She was alive. She was conscious. But everything inside her was crumbling.
She took a deep breath. Once. Twice. She stood up.
In front of the door to room five hundred two, she stopped. She leaned her hand against the wall, as if the concrete could support her. She closed her eyes. There was no way to be prepared for what she was about to see. But it was now or never.
She pushed the door open.
The first blow was visual. The man in the bed, wrapped in white sheets, was merely a shadow of who he had been. His face sunken, his skin clinging to his bones, his eyes dim. But still... he was there. Emanuel Krikket.
Their gazes met.
Delia felt the air leave her body. She paled even more. Emanuel tried to manage a smile. He gestured, tremblingly, for her to sit down.
"Thank you for coming..." he said, his voice weak, but clear. "One of my students went to see you."
"Did you send him?"
Delia's tone was harsh, defensive.
"No. But his doing so gave me... the chance to see you one last time."
She slowly walked to the stool beside the bed and sat down. Hunched. As if the world were falling on her. She didn't say "hello." She didn't ask about his health. She just let fall, like a stone in water:
"Why did you abandon me?"
The question was not new. She had asked it many times, in her head, in her dreams, in front of the mirror, even in the middle of the night, whispering it in the darkness. But this time, finally, she uttered it in front of the one who needed to hear it.
Emanuel looked down. He closed his eyes as if an icy current had passed through his soul.
"It was one of the worst decisions I made in my life..." he finally said. "Do you want to hear my story?"
Delia hesitated. But she nodded. She had come for this, even if her heart didn't know how to endure it.
"I left because I thought I couldn't hurt you anymore. It wasn't a noble decision, or a brave one. It was an escape. I couldn't bear to see myself in your mother's eyes, or in yours. I felt... hollow. A failure. And shame became a habit."
He paused. His breathing was heavy. The pain was evident in every word.
"Later, when I wanted to come back, too much time had passed. How could I face everything I had broken? I became a functional coward... I lived, but I didn't live. And you... you grew up without me."
Delia felt anger twisting in her chest.
"And you think that's enough? Do you think I can forgive you just because you're sick?"
"No. I can't beg for pity. I don't expect redemption. I just want to tell you that I'm sorry... just in case that means something."
"You can't ask for forgiveness as if it were an automatic right. I lived every day wondering why you didn't come back. Do you understand that? What kind of father runs away like that?" She gasped for air. "I needed you too many times, but you were never there, you didn't call, you didn't send a letter, nothing... you just disappeared while I waited for you, until I stopped waiting for you." —The rage showed in her tightly clenched hands.
Emanuel pressed his lips together. He looked down.
"You're right. I am not worthy of forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But if this meeting serves for you to tell me all that... if it helps you, even a little, then I am grateful that you are here."
Delia didn't respond immediately. Her lips trembled. She looked at her father for a long time. She wouldn't forgive him. Not then. Maybe never. But deep down... she had always waited for him.
"I don't forgive you, Emanuel. I won't just because you ask. Or because you are like this. But I wanted to see you, even if only once," she whispered.
And then, he cried. Not with scandal. Not with shouts. But with that kind of crying that only the repentant who arrived too late have. Delia didn't console him. She didn't hug him. But she also didn't get up to leave.
She stayed.
And for Emanuel Krikket, that was already more than he had deserved.