“Dad, do you really think anyone would buy that?”
Every time I looked at the dresses they had created, I discovered something remarkable. Their creations demonstrated a creativity that cannot be learned from textbooks.
“You are more than good,” I always told them. “You are incredible.”
And I truly meant it.
The day of his return
Last Thursday, the morning had started like any other. The girls were working on two new dresses they had designed, and I was in the kitchen pouring coffee when the doorbell rang.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
When I opened the door, the past burst into my life.
Lauren was standing there.
For a moment, I truly wondered if I was imagining things. The woman standing before me had a polished and elegant air, as if she had spent years cultivating her image. Her clothes alone probably cost more than our monthly rent, and her impeccable hairstyle framed a face that held the same assertive confidence I remembered.
She looked at me over her sunglasses.
“Mark,” she said coldly.
Before I could reply, she walked past me and entered the apartment as if those eighteen years had never existed.
Her gaze slowly scanned the room, lingering on the sewing table covered with fabrics and sketches.
Then she wrinkled her nose.
“You’re still living like this?” she said in a loud voice. “Still stuck in the same hole?”
Emma and Clara had already stopped sewing.
“Daddy,” Clara asked in a low voice, “who is it?”
I took a breath that felt heavier than it should have been.
“That’s… your mother.”
Silence fell in the room.
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