I woke up again. The clock read 4:03 AM — too early to be awake, at least for most people.
But not for me.
Not today.
I had a different goal.
I got dressed without making a sound. Slipping out the front door, I stood quietly on the sidewalk, waiting. A cab eventually pulled up, headlights cutting through the morning fog.
I got in.
> "Martens Corporation, downtown," I said.
The driver nodded and took off. I leaned my head against the window and watched the empty streets blur past in silence.
> Is forgiveness something you earn? Or is it something someone gives?
Is it an achievement, or just... an emotion?
Do people forgive us for what we did — or for who we are?
The questions circled in my head like birds with nowhere to land.
We arrived.
I paid the driver, stepped out, and stared up at the tall, glass building with my name on it.
Do I really deserve any of this?
I walked in. The place was quiet — still too early for anyone else to arrive.
So I started cleaning. Rearranged some chairs. Picked up papers. Watered a few plants I hadn't noticed in years.
Time passed slowly.
Eventually, I sat down at my desk.
One by one, employees trickled in. Some greeted me. Some avoided eye contact. I didn't blame them.
Then I saw it — a photo on my desk.
A picture of the three of us. Me. Emily. Mark.
I remembered now — we only took it for passport paperwork.
None of us were smiling.
We looked more like strangers than a family.
Did I really do this to us...?
I kept staring at the photo for a long time. Then, I stood up.
It was only 6 PM — the earliest I'd left the office in years.
---
I opened the front door to the house. The first thing I saw was Mark sitting on the couch, playing a video game. His attention was glued to the screen.
I walked over slowly.
"What are you playing?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away.
"Just... a game. With some friends," he finally said.
"You good at it?"
"Kind of. I'm still new," he replied, eyes still on the game.
I reached out instinctively to place my hand on his head — a small gesture.
But the second I moved, I saw him flinch. He closed his eyes, like he thought I was going to hit him.
My hand froze in the air.
What have I done?
Softly — gently — I let my palm rest on his head and patted him. No words. Just that.
Then I turned away and walked upstairs.
I was about to enter the bedroom when Emily stepped out.
"You're home early," she said.
"Yeah," I nodded. "I used to think staying late made me a good father... but I wanted to spend time with you both."
She didn't answer. Just looked down... and quietly walked past me toward the stairs.
I got changed and followed her downstairs a few minutes later.
I headed toward the dining room and saw her standing there — looking at something on the table.
The rose I had left earlier.
She held it delicately, twirling it between her fingers.
And then — for the first time in a long while — I saw it.
A smile.
But this wasn't the cold, polite smile I'd seen so many times before.
This smile... had something behind it. Something soft. Something real.
Forgiveness.