The Last Time I Saw My Dad, I Almost Didn’t Go—Now I’m Grateful I Did
He used to call me his little girl, even when I was pushing thirty and had my own apartment across town. We were close—really close—until we weren’t.
Six years ago, we had a fight. A stupid one, really. It started over politics but underneath it was grief, pride, and two people who didn’t know how to reach each other anymore. I slammed the door that day. Neither of us called after.
Then came the voicemail.
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