Chapter 1When the Last Light Fades

A week before the wedding, I took my dad to the hospital where my fiancé worked for an upper endoscopy under sedation.

Dad had gotten up extra early to shave and put on a gleaming white shirt and a new pair of shoes. Clutching his numbered ticket, he asked me quietly, "If Yale's busy, we don't need to see him. We shouldn't hold him up."

I patted his arm. "Don't worry. I made an appointment. It wouldn't be holding him up."

He'd been up since five without anything to eat. By eleven, his legs were trembling from standing. I texted Yale Xavier.

[Dad can barely stand anymore. How many people are ahead of us?]

It took him a long time to reply.

[Wait your turn like everyone else.]

Another hour passed. Just as our turn finally came, they called in the mother and daughter who'd been sitting the whole time.

Through the gap in the door, I heard the girl ask, "Yale, who are those people outside? Are you sure it's okay to give me their spot?"

"Sure. I happen to know them a little. They're father and daughter. They won't mind."

I looked down at the ticket in my palm, soaked with my dad's sweat.

Dad had paid his tuition for medical school and his doctorate, and in five days, I was supposed to marry him.

Now we were just people he happened to know.

I rolled up the ticket and tucked it into my pocket, then helped Dad to the nearest place serving breakfast. As soon as we sat down, I sent a message to our family and friends.

[The wedding is off.]

* * *

Breakfast was unusually quiet. Dad spooned up his grits and tried to reason with me.

"Yale didn't mean anything by it. Don't let something this small come between you. Listen to me. Go ahead with the wedding."

I didn't answer. I just slipped a strip of bacon from my plate onto his plate.

Back home, Dad ran a small breakfast place. He got up before dawn to knead dough and let it rise, shape rolls and hand pies, and fry doughnuts while the coffee brewed. Yale had accepted Dad's money for tuition without a second thought, but he'd never asked where it came from. Five- and ten-dollar bills and loose coins piled up in a drawer, stained with grease and grime. The cost showed even more plainly on Dad's hands, covered in thick calluses and burn blisters.

Whenever I visited, I told him to take a break. He'd wipe his face with a towel and give me his guileless smile. "Once I've saved enough for a down payment for you two, I will."

At the beginning of the year, Dad started complaining that his stomach hurt. I asked Yale if he could use his staff family privileges to arrange an endoscopy for him.

He refused outright.

"I'm a senior doctor. How can I be the one pulling strings?"

I had to admit he had a point. So with the wedding coming up, I booked Dad an appointment for the week before it and reminded Yale several times. Every time, he said, "Got it," without looking up.

Apparently, "Got it" hadn't meant he'd remember. It hadn't been a promise. He'd only said it to brush me off.

I took Dad home and booked him an appointment at another major hospital. By seven that evening, Yale still hadn't called or texted to ask whether Dad had had his endoscopy, or whether we wanted to go out for a while. By eight, the dinner I'd made had gone cold, and Yale still wasn't home.

I called him. The phone rang for two seconds before he hung up. I texted him.

[When are you coming home?]

He didn't reply. I picked up my fork, but Dad stopped me.

"We shouldn't eat without him. Yale might be in surgery..."

Under the light, his smile drew all the wrinkles in his face together. Against his white hair, the sight stung. I swallowed the ache in my throat and set my fork down.

My phone chimed with a notification about a new post. I opened it and saw Yale grinning and flashing a peace sign with the mother and daughter from the hospital. They were in a lavish private dining room with his coworkers, a table full of food in front of them.

A nurse I knew, Nora Price, had tagged me in the comments.

[Hey, Mrs. Xavier, Yale's treating his childhood sweetheart to dinner. Where are you?]

I stared at the screen until it went dark. Then I typed a few words.

[Guess I'm not worthy.]

I put down my phone and told Dad to eat. "He's having dinner with his coworkers. We don't need to wait."

Dad's hand went still on the table. He quickly forced a smile. "It's right for him to treat them. He has to maintain those relationships at the hospital. We can't help him with that, so we should support him."

I ate in silence. Every bite felt like swallowing shards of glass.

I'd barely chewed a few mouthfuls when Yale called. His voice was colder than a knife.

"Delete it."