Chapter 8
The next day was the longest day of my life.
My father spent the day preparing.
He met with his men. He went over plans. He checked weapons.
My mother was quiet.
She watched my father. Fear in her eyes.
But also love.
That night, my father got dressed in his suit.
He looked in the mirror.
He adjusted his tie.
My mother came up behind him.
She put her arms around him.
"Be careful," she said.
"Always," he said.
He turned around.
He kissed her.
Long and deep.
"I'll be back," he said.
He came to my room.
I was sitting on my bed, waiting for him.
He knelt down in front of me.
"Listen to me, son," he said. "Whatever happens tonight... you need to be strong. For your mother. For yourself. Can you do that?"
I nodded.
"Where are you going?" I asked. "Can I come?"
My father shook his head.
"Not this time," he said. "This is something I have to do. But someday... someday you'll stand beside me. I promise."
He pulled me into a hug.
"I love you, son," he said.
"I love you too, Dad."
He stood up.
He walked to the door.
He looked back.
Then he was gone.
My mother and I sat in the living room.
We waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The hours ticked by.
Midnight came and went.
One o'clock.
Two o'clock.
My mother was crying quietly.
I held her hand.
"It's okay, Mom," I said. "Dad will be back. He promised."
She nodded, but she didn't stop crying.
At three o'clock in the morning, we heard cars pull up.
My mother and I ran to the window.
Black cars were pulling into the driveway.
Men in suits got out.
And then...
My father.
He was alive.
He was walking.
But he was hurt.
His arm was in a sling. His face was bruised. There was blood on his shirt.
But he was alive.
My mother and I ran to the door.
We threw it open.
My father saw us.
He smiled.
"Told you I'd come back," he said.
My mother ran to him.
She threw her arms around him.
Careful of his injured arm.
She kissed him.
"I was so scared," she said.
"I know," he said. "I'm here. I'm okay."
I ran to him too.
I hugged him tight.
"You're hurt," I said.
"It's just a scratch," he said. "Nothing to worry about."
The doctor came.
He checked my father's arm.
It was broken.
He had a few cracked ribs.
And a concussion.
But he was going to be okay.
"It was a trap," my father told us later. "Just like we thought. But we were ready. We handled them. The leaders are dead. The rest are scattered. They won't be bothering us again."
He looked at my mother and me.
"It's over," he said. "We're safe. All of us."
My mother kissed him again.
And this time, there was no hesitation.
No fear.
May you like
Just love.
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