Chapter 30 Daddy's Girl
KARA’S POV
Taking a leave from work feels like another thing I should be afraid of, another consequence I don’t have the energy to face. But when I stand in front of Mr. Lu’s office the next morning, my hands shaking just slightly, he doesn’t let me finish my explanation.
“I know,” he says gently, folding his hands on the table. “Finnian already told me about your father.”
That alone almost breaks me.
“I—I just need a few days,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how long—”
“A week. Take the whole week.” He interrupts.
I look up at him, stunned. “Sir—”
“Family comes first, Kara,” he says firmly, but his eyes are kind. “Work can wait and your dad can’t.”
"Thank you,” I whisper, bowing my head. “I won’t forget this.” My throat tightens.
He nods. “Just take care of him and take care of yourself too.”
I leave his office feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because I don’t have to choose, heavier because now, there are no excuses left, and I belong here, with my dad.
That week becomes ours. Every morning starts the same way. I wake up before him, prepare his breakfast, count his medications twice like I’m afraid I’ll get it wrong if I blink. I hover, I watch, and I listen.
“Kara,” he sighs one morning as I follow him from the bed to the chair. “I can walk.”
“Slowly,” I warn. “And sit down first.”
He chuckles. “You sound like your mother.”
I freeze for a second, then soften. “She’d be worse,” I say quietly. “She’d probably scold you already, old man."
He smiles at that, a sad, fond curve of his lips. When he mentions work for the first time, it’s casual, like he’s testing the water.
“I think I can start again next week,” he says, sipping his soup. “Just small commissions and light work.”
I turn to him slowly. “No.”
“Kara—”
“No,” I repeat, firmer this time. “Doctor said you should rest, dad."
“I can’t just stay idle,” he insists. “People are waiting—”
“They can wait,” I cut in as my voice is trembling despite my effort. “You collapsed, dad and you almost—” I stop myself, swallowing hard. “You scared me.”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and something in his expression shifts.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says softly.
“I know,” I reply, sitting beside him. “But please, just this once, listen to me. Let me take care of you.”
Silence stretches between us before he sighs, defeated but gentle.
“Alright,” he says. “Just for now.”
I lean my head on his shoulder as relief washing over me. “Right.”
The afternoons are my favorite. We sit in the living room as the television plays football games he’s always loved. I don’t understand half of what’s happening on screen, but I love the way his eyes light up and the way he leans forward when the game gets intense.
“Look at that pass!” he exclaims, pointing at the screen. “That’s skill.”
“That was lucky,” I tease.
“You don’t appreciate talent.” He laughs.
“I appreciate snacks,” I say, handing him a bowl of sliced apples.
"I thought it will be popcorn and fries," He grins.
Sometimes he explains the rules and sometimes he just comments loudly like the players can hear him. I watch him more than the screen, memorizing the sound of his laughter, and the way he looks so alive in these small moments.
One afternoon, he glances at me suddenly.
“You look happy.”
I blink. “Dad, I really am.”
“You don’t even go out anymore,” he says, half-joking. “No meetings and no rushing.”
“I don’t need to,” I reply honestly. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
During the midweek, we go grocery shopping together. I insist on pushing the cart while he walks slowly beside me, pretending not to enjoy it when I stop him from lifting anything heavy.
“I’m not fragile,” he mutters.
“You are,” I reply sweetly. “Very fragile.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
We argue over brands, over fruits, and over whether we need more rice when we clearly already have some at home.
“Get this one,” he says, holding up a cheaper option.
“No,” I counter. “This one tastes better.”
“You’re wasting money,” he scolds me lightly
I smile despite that. “I’m buying happiness.”
At the counter, as I pay, it hits me suddenly. The numbers on the screen don’t matter, the long hours I worked, the pressure, and the stress. None of it compares to this moment, to standing beside my dad while he hums softly, and content and alive. On the way home, he carries the lightest bag despite my protests.
“I need to feel useful,” he says.
“You already are,” I reply. “You’re here.”
That night, as I help him settle into bed, he reaches for my hand that made me almost cry.
“Thank you for staying,” he says quietly. “I know you have a life, Karaella.”
I squeeze his hand. “You are my life, dad." I said in shaky voice.
He smiles as his eyes are glistening. “I did something right then.”
As I turn off the light and step out of his room, I realize something I’ve been chasing for months. No matter how much money I earn, no matter how high I climb, none of it can buy this peace, this joy, and this love that fills the space between us that is simple and whole.
And for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel like I’m running anymore, I’m home again.