The son sent his father away at his wife’s urging… but an unexpected meeting in the park changed everything.

Without a question, she brought him to her small yellow house at the edge of town. She brewed him tea, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and simply said, “You’ll stay until you’re warm again.”

Days blended into weeks. Harold began repairing small things around her home — the squeaky hinge, the broken heater, the clock that hadn’t ticked in years. In the evenings, they sat by the window, reminiscing about students, families, and all the time that had quietly slipped away.

But one night, Harold collapsed while changing a light bulb.
The doctors said his heart was weak — worn from worry and exhaustion. Margaret stayed by his side, reading aloud from his favorite books and playing the old records he loved.

When he awoke one morning, he whispered, “I wish I could see Ethan again — just once.”
Margaret made the call.

A few days later, Michael arrived — alone. Rebecca had left, taking the house and the quiet distance that had grown between them. He stood in the doorway, guilt heavy in his voice.
“Dad… I don’t deserve to be here.”

Harold managed a faint smile. “You came — that’s what matters.”

Michael knelt beside the bed, his voice breaking.
“I should’ve defended you,” he said. “I should’ve been the kind of son you were to me.”

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