“My father.”

“I need a name, miss.”

“Oh, right. Theodore Ross.” The lobby officer started tapping at her keyboard.

Please be on there.

Two and half years ago, my father forbade me to return. I assumed that meant he’d take my name from his list of approved visitors, so I was here solely on the chance that he hadn’t.

“Ok, Miss Ross. I need a valid form of identification…” I hid my relief and handed over my driver’s license. “…and for you to fill this out.” I took the form she handed me and studied it. At the top of the form read, “Notification to Visitor.” I swallowed down bile when I recalled filling out a similar form before his trial. Even though he’d left me on his list after all this time, he could still deny my visit.

I quickly filled out the form and returned it to the officer. She then returned my ID and instructed me to wait. Thirty minutes later, I was shown to security, and my relief returned full force, but on its heel was anxiety. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years.

Would he look the same?

Sound the same?

Would he even be happy to see me?

He accepted my visit so maybe there was a chance he missed me as much as I missed him. I floated through security and rode with an elevator full of visitors and two security guards to the eighth floor.

My hands were sweating so I ran them down my jeans and gave myself a pep talk. He was my father. Despite what he’d done and how far he’d pushed me away since Mom died, he would always be my father. Neither of us could change that.

Finding a seat was easy since the visiting room was mostly empty. Today was the start of the Fourth of July weekend. Incarcerated loved ones were forgotten about for summer beach fun.

I took a seat furthest away from the ears of the guards and waited with my gaze fixed on the table. The volume in the room rose as the inmates were released. I could hear tearful greetings and kisses being exchanged. I held my breath through it all.

“Hey, baby girl.”

I worried for nothing. His voice hadn’t changed a bit. I felt him standing by my side. I wanted to jump into his arms and beg him to come home, but I was too afraid of the answer.

“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered my greeting to the table.

“I’d believe that if you actually looked at me.”

Shit.

Here goes.

I tore my gaze from the table. The first thing I noticed was his chest. It was bigger than I remembered. The next were his shoulders. They were broader than I remembered. It was obvious he spent his time packing on muscle.

My gaze continued their journey until I was staring into eyes so identical to mine.

They were greener than I remember.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“That’s much better.” He opened his arms, and I leaped from the chair and launched myself into his arms.

I wasn’t going to cry.

Crying was for pussies.

I shoved my face in his chest and bawled like a baby.

“I’ve missed you too, baby girl.” He held me for as long as he could until a guard ordered us to break apart.

He squeezed me once and then moved away.

I’ve missed his hugs.

We took our seats and just stared at one another until we burst into laughter. “You look good,” I remarked. He did look good. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it didn’t appear he was suffering.

He ignored the compliment and studied me. “You don’t.”

“How perceptive, Father.”

He wasn’t amused. “Mian.”

“You’re a grandfather.”

The atmosphere around us changed with the simple flip of a switch. He blinked and sat back. Then his hand shot up, and he ran it down his face. “No. No. No. No,” he chanted. “Mian—” His voice caught.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “How did this happen? This is not what I wanted for you.”

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s here, and we need your help.”

“He? You have a son?”

“Yes. His name is Caylen Theo Ross.”

My father’s lips trembled. He tried to smile and failed. “Do you have a picture?”

I flinched. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I mean I wasn’t sure—”

“It’s okay,” he cut in. “Next time.”

No, it wasn’t okay. I didn’t have many photos of Caylen, but he deserved to have one. “Yes, next time.”

“Is he why you’re here? When was he born?”

“October 30th.” Confusion twisted his features. “What’s wrong?”

“That was almost nine months ago. Why am I just now finding out?”

“You forbade me to contact or visit you, remember? I’m only here now because I have no choice.”

“Ben should have told me. Is he here with you?” His tone was frigid now. “I’d like to speak with him.”

“Daddy… Uncle Ben and Aunt Gretchen kicked me out before Caylen was born. I haven’t seen them in over a year.”