To Grieve, Learn and Let Go (Pedro Pascal/Joel Miller Inspired Story)

Just One Chance

Inside the empty restroom, I sought refuge in the solitude. Leaning against the stall door, I let the floodgates open, and tears streamed down my cheeks like a torrential downpour. It was as if I had been holding back these emotions for years, and now they rushed forth with an unstoppable force. The weight of my father's absence, the pain of losing my grandparents, and the unresolved emotions from the past all merged into an overwhelming whirlpool of grief.

Bitter-sweet memories of my father and me swirled through my mind. I didn't know why they were resurfacing, and I couldn't control them. Each image was a stab to my heart, a reminder of the love I had longed for but had been denied. I clutched my hands to my face, trying to stifle the sobs that shook my body. The restroom walls seemed to close in around me, suffocating me with the weight of my emotions.

I wanted to collapse on the cold, tiled floor and cradle myself, seeking solace in my own embrace. But instead, I forced myself to stand, bracing against the stall door for support. The tears flowed like a river, carrying with them the pain I had bottled up for so long. In that moment, I felt like a child again, lost and vulnerable, longing for the comfort of a father who had abandoned me.

Time seemed to blur as I cried out every last tear within me. The sobs echoed in the empty restroom, a haunting symphony of pain and grief. And yet, with each tear shed, there was a glimmer of release.

Eventually, the storm of emotions subsided, leaving me drained but strangely lighter. I took a deep, shaky breath and wiped away the tears that stained my cheeks. Gathering what little strength remained, I steadied myself and unlocked the stall door.

As I stepped out of the stall, I saw my tear-streaked reflection in the mirror. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me—a mixture of vulnerability, resilience, and pain. But I knew that I had faced my emotions head-on, confronting the pain that had haunted me for so long.

I still didn't know how to make sense of it all, but I knew one thing—I had to keep moving forward, without my father in the picture. I refuse to let him into my life. I can do this on my own and I will let him know one last time before I leave this diner. The road ahead might be uncertain and filled with challenges, but I would face them with the strength of my grandparents' love in my heart and the resilience I had built through years of struggle.

With a newfound resolve, I straightened my shoulders and left the restroom.

As I made my way back to the table, I couldn't help but notice the empty seats and the paid bill. I guess dessert was off the menu, and I was honestly relieved that I wouldn't have to endure another awkward minute with him. However, to my surprise, as I stepped out of the diner, there he was—my dad, waiting outside with a takeout bag. Dodging him was no longer an option.

Feeling a mix of unease and the urge to run, I approached him with my arms crossed, making it clear that I wasn't thrilled about the situation.

He looked at me, trying to conceal the traces of his tears with a smile. "Thought I'd get you a doggy bag for your leftovers and a sliced chocolate fudge cake." He held up the bag, and I took it from him, not sure how to respond.

"Umm... thanks," I mumbled, not really knowing what to make of the situation.

My dad shifted his hands into his pockets, a mix of nervousness and determination in his eyes. "Mia, I really want to make this work. I want to support you in any way you need, financially or academically. I want to be there for you, whether you like it or not. I missed out on being your father, and now I'm trying to make up for it by being here for you on this huge journey."

It was hard to ignore the sincerity in his voice, but I was still skeptical. "But it's not much of a choice to live in your house, is it? It's what my grandparents wanted," I retorted, feeling torn between my financial struggles and my pride.

I sighed, feeling defeated by the circumstances. "Okay, I'll give you a chance," I finally conceded, and a hopeful smile spread across his face. "But just one chance, alright? Even though I'll be in the dorm most of the time, and only staying at your place during academic breaks, I won't call it home. Just one shot, got it?" I made it clear that my guard was still up.

He nodded and extended his hand to shake mine. I hesitated, but eventually, I shook it. "Got it, babygirl." His words were endearing, but there was one more thing on my mind.

"Fine, but don't call me 'babygirl'," I countered with a grin, wanting to assert my independence.

He chuckled, not accepting our unspoken compromise. "Uhh, nope, can't do that. And one more thing," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "don't call me Pedro. Call me dad, or, papa, since I am your dad."

"Oh, wow, that's a little unfair." I couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, fine." I said with a thumbs up, already feeling a spark of humor amidst the emotional rollercoaster. I hated that I let this little bittersweet moment come to play, but it happened. What could I do? This journey with my father was just beginning, and while it wouldn't be easy, at least we could navigate it with a hint of laughter and compromise.