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Then one evening, everything got worse. I was walking past his study when I heard him on the phone, and something about his voice caught my attention. It was too soft, like he was trying to be gentle to someone he really cared about.
“Yes, I understand,” he said quietly.
There was a pause, and I held my breath, pressing myself against the wall.
“No, don’t thank me,” he continued. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”
My heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t how you talked to a patient.
That was how you talked to someone you cared about. Someone important.
That night, I cried into my pillow until my face was puffy and my throat hurt. I wanted to believe that my dad was still the man who loved Mom unconditionally, but all the clues screamed otherwise.
A few days later, he announced he was going on a short business trip.
He said it casually over dinner, like it was nothing.
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