Chapter 11 - THE FATHER WHO CAME BACK TOO LATE
Wyatt's father returned in spring.
His name was Michael Morrison.
He arrived at Harold's cabin carrying a small suitcase and the expression of a man who'd spent two years rehearsing an apology.
Wyatt saw him through the window.
He froze.
“Grandpa?”
Harold looked up.
Then went still.
Michael stood on the porch.
“Dad.”
Harold stared.
“Michael.”
Silence.
Then Wyatt stepped into the doorway.
His face went pale.
“Dad?”
Michael's eyes filled.
“Hey, buddy.”
Wyatt didn't move.
For two years, he'd imagined this moment.
He'd pictured running into his father's arms.
Crying.
Laughing.
Being carried home.
But now the man standing before him felt like a stranger.
Michael knelt.
“Wyatt, I'm sorry.”
The boy stared.
“Where were you?”
Michael swallowed.
“I was sick.”
Wyatt frowned.
“Like Mom?”
Michael shook his head.
“No. Not like Mom.”
He explained that after his wife's death, he'd struggled with depression and substance use.
He'd entered treatment.
Lost contact.
Made terrible decisions.
Wyatt listened.
Then asked:
“Why didn't you call?”
Michael began crying.
“I was ashamed.”
Wyatt stared.
Then he said:
“I thought you didn't want me.”
Michael shook his head violently.
“No.”
Wyatt's voice broke.
“Then why did you leave?”
Michael couldn't answer.
Harold stepped forward.
“That's enough for today.”
Michael nodded.
Wyatt turned and ran inside.
Titan followed.
Later, Jackson arrived.
Harold told him what happened.
Jackson listened.
Then looked toward Wyatt's bedroom.
“Can I talk to him?”
Harold nodded.
Jackson knocked softly.
“Wyatt?”
Silence.
Then a small voice.
“Come in.”
Wyatt sat on the bed.
Titan lay beside him.
Jackson sat in the chair.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Wyatt whispered:
“Do you think my dad loves me?”
Jackson swallowed.
“I think he does.”
Wyatt looked up.
“Then why did he leave?”
Jackson considered.
“Sometimes people love someone and still fail them badly.”
Wyatt's eyes filled.
“That's not fair.”
Jackson nodded.
“No.”
The boy looked down.
“Do I have to forgive him?”
Jackson shook his head.
“No.”
Wyatt stared.
Jackson continued.
“You can take your time. You can ask questions. You can be angry.”
Wyatt swallowed.
“And if I don't want to see him?”
“Then the adults need to respect that and help you feel safe.”
The boy nodded slowly.
Then he whispered:
“Are you going to leave too?”
Jackson's chest tightened.
He looked at Wyatt.
“I won't disappear without telling you.”
Wyatt studied him.
“Promise?”
Jackson nodded.
May you like
“Promise.”
And this time, he understood exactly how much that word meant.
