Chapter 296 A seat for forgiveness

Chapter 296 A seat for forgiveness
Alexander’s POV

I sit by the window of the care home, sunlight streaking through the glass and warming the table where I peel an apple. My father sits quietly beside me in his wheelchair, his eyes distant as always—but I keep talking, the way I always do.

“I told Dad… Isabel finally told the kids,” I say, smiling as I slice the apple into even halves. “Scarlett and Sterling. They know I’m their real father now.”

I glance at him, even though I know he doesn’t really understand me. Not since the accident. His silence is different now—disconnected. But still, I want to share this moment with him. I need to.

I lift my wrist, showing him the simple colorful bracelet. “You see this? Scarlett gave it to me months ago. She said it was a friendship bracelet. 

I let out a quiet laugh, remembering how I’d smiled and accepted it—grateful, even though my heart was breaking.

Back then, I thought I was just a stranger in their lives. A ghost watching from the sidelines while they called another man ‘Dad.’

“But today…” I swallow.

“Today I found out she and Sterling had picked this out to give to their real dad—when they’d finally meet him.”

I pause, the weight of it finally sinking in.

Even before they knew… they chose me.

And somehow, that hurts more than anything else—because I didn’t know. I didn’t believe I could ever be enough.

“The connection was already there… and I didn’t see it. I failed to see it.”

Then—his cheek glistens.

A tear.

I freeze, the apple slipping from my fingers to the plate.

“Dad?” I say softly, voice trembling. “You’re crying.”

His lips part. And for the first time in years, he speaks—clear, soft, pained.

“I regret it all, Alexander.”

I straighten, stunned. My heart pounds in my chest.

“Dad… you recognize me?” I lean in closer, my voice breaking. “Yes, it’s me. Alexander.”

But he doesn’t respond to that. He just keeps going.

“I should’ve tried harder to understand your mother. But I didn’t. I hurt her. I broke her trust. I kept blaming her for things she didn’t do… and it was all my fault.”

I cup his trembling hands, fighting the emotion rising in my chest. “I know, Dad. I know everything now. And Mom—she doesn’t hate you. She’s forgiven you. She’s been wishing for your healing every single day.”

I say it hoping he’ll hear me. That he’ll stay with me just a little longer.

But then his words drift. He starts mumbling about his old car. Something about the color of the curtains. The weather. Things that make no sense.

My heart sinks.

He’s gone again.

Back into the world only he can see.

I smile sadly and let out a quiet chuckle—more out of heartbreak than amusement. But still, I’m grateful. Even if it was just for a few seconds… I saw him. He saw me.

Later that evening, I walk into the house. The familiar smell of something warm and home-cooked hits me the second I enter, wrapping around me like a blanket.

I make my way to the dining room and stop when I see Mom setting the table.

“There you are,” she says with a smile. “I made your favorite for dinner. Come eat.”

I grin, sliding into a seat. “How did you know I was craving this?”

She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I know I haven’t been a great mom, so I wanted to make up for it. I asked the chefs what you liked best. Turns out, you always light up when they serve this… so I decided I’d cook it myself.”

I look at her—really look at her—and smile.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it.

She scoops out a serving and places it in front of me. The air is quiet, calm, filled with something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

A few minutes into our meal, I speak again.

“I visited Dad today.”

She looks up, her eyes still, expectant. “Really? How was he?”

I shrug. “You know. Still his old self.” I pause, then smile faintly. “I told him about Isabel. That she finally told the kids I’m their father.”

She gasps softly, a smile spreading across her face. “Really? I’m so happy for you, son. I’m so grateful Isabel gave you that chance.” Her tone shifts—warm, but serious. “Treat her right this time. Okay?”

I chuckle, nodding. “I will.”

Then without thinking, I say it.

“He regrets his actions.”

She pauses, spoon mid-air.

I glance at her. “Dad. He regrets it all. Breaking your trust. Not trying harder to understand you.”

She blinks.

And for the first time in a long while, I see the tears gather in her eyes. She wipes them with the back of her palm, sniffing and nodding, her hand trembling slightly.

Neither of us says another word for a while.

But in that silence, something shifts. Something lifts.

The healing begins.

And this time… we both allow it.

For the first time in years, dinner felt like home. Not because everything was perfect… but because healing had finally pulled up a seat at the table.