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I turned the doorknob nervously, my father Ramon and my daughter Summer behind me. I was happy to have Dad safely home unharmed after that horrible hurricane destroyed the retirement home where he was living. I was still processing my loss—or assumed loss —so the whole thing felt like a miracle. For me, at least. I knew my mother was miserable. She hated even the idea of ever seeing him again, let alone having him back in the house. It had been almost 30 years since they last saw each other. 

My father had inflicted his fair share of trauma on my mother, and I knew she wasn’t over it. As the eldest sister, I felt like I’d been in the middle of everything my whole life, including now. I called my sisters and explained what happened to Dad. And although they were relieved to hear he was well. They couldn't do much; Viviane lived in a tiny apartment in New York with her husband and dogs, and Ana (who also lived far away) had a five-year-old and a full-time job. I knew neither of them could take care of Dad nor bring him home. 

Dad lived a lonely life full of regret after our mother left him. He moved in with his sister, Auntie Lola until she passed. Neither of our parents remarried or found a new partner. We all chose to put him in a home to be better cared for. When our parents separated, we all sided with Mom but maintained a good relationship with him. We all loved him and always agreed he was a great father but a terrible husband. It was a strange yet necessary truth to wrestle with growing up. 

Mom did have scars from my father, but the truth was that as the eldest child, I was left with scars, too, from her. She put a lot of pressure on me growing up to help raise my sisters. I worked around the house and out in the world to feed my sisters and help buy our home, fostering some lingering resentment towards her. It felt as though a portion of my youth slipped away because she couldn't move past my father. 

Throughout her difficult journey post-divorce, I stood by her side, picking up the shattered fragments of her world as she navigated through her darkest moments. Her hate towards men, which extended even to those I brought into my life, including the initial resistance towards Summer’s father, left me wrestling with the fear of inevitably mirroring her resentment and bitterness. It was a recurring question: Did her influence extend to my own decision to part ways with Summer's dad? 

On the drive to get my father, Summer had a lot of questions about her grandparents’ relationship. “I heard Mimi yelling at you over Grandpa. Why does she hate him so much?” she asked me. I had dodged that question several times, but Summer was only days away from turning seventeen, and I felt it was time to tell her. I just feared she would come to think poorly of her grandpa. 

“What did he do to her? Did he cheat on her?” she asked.

“No, he didn’t cheat on her. He was madly in love with your grandma.” 

"Tell me . . .” she demanded. 

I paused briefly to collect my thoughts while keeping my eyes on the road. I told Summer about how times have changed, but in the past, societal norms often dictated that men expected their wives to focus solely on raising children and maintaining the home. But her grandma didn't conform to that expectation. Instead, she aspired to work and pursue an education. Her grandpa opposed her desires and subjected her to cruelty. 

It started with petty acts like hiding her wallet and keys to make her late deliberately. He'd refuse to open the door if she returned home late at night, leaving her stranded outside or forcing her to sleep at her mother's house. He had intense jealousy, restricting her wardrobe choices to prevent other men from admiring her. He meticulously scrutinized every aspect of her outfits before allowing her to leave the house. 

Things turned darker when she expressed her desire to return to school. He flat-out refused, leading to their most vicious fight yet. It was the breaking point for Mimi. I can still recall it perfectly, with both screaming at the top of their lungs, breaking things around them. My sisters and I were petrified. That night, she made it clear she no longer wished to see him again, and he agreed. 

That night, the chill in the air penetrated our home. I remember pinching myself, thinking everything was a nightmare. My sister's crying reminded me that it was real. We hid in a closet, waiting for our parents to find us. Thinking they would look for us together like they did when we played hide and seek. I thought it was just another fight and that things would be fine afterward. Except they weren’t. 

“So, They never had a good relationship?” Summer wondered. 

“They had many great moments together; we made some beautiful memories back then. We all know your grandpa loved Mimi. He would buy her roses very often and take her out on dates. I have a beautiful memory of them dancing in the living room as a child,” I told her. 

“Maybe they were too young,” Summer suggested. 

“Maybe,” I replied. 

I showed Dad around, and we couldn’t hide our tears from having him there. He looked tired and must have lost some weight. 

“Does your mother know I’m here?” he asked. 

“She does,” I replied. 

“I bet she’s thrilled,” he joked. 

“Don’t worry, I will make sure you feel comfortable,” I assured him. 

“I already am, Lainey.” 

I helped him to the guest room. He was tired and fell asleep quickly. The next day, I found him in the kitchen making coffee. He gave me a cup for myself. 

“Does your mother still like it black with two sugars?” he asked. 

I nodded. 

He handed me the cup of coffee for my mother, and at that moment, I had a crazy feeling I hadn’t had since childhood. A wave of nostalgia overtook me. It was déjà vu. I never thought I would have my parents under the same roof again after all these years; it had just occurred to me how surreal that was. I couldn’t tell Dad that Mimi hated having him there and wouldn’t come down, but I knew he was somewhat aware. I agreed to ask her to join us for breakfast, even though I knew she would say no. 

Tension loomed in the air, and Mimi’s door was sealed shut. Dad sensed the energy and retreated to the guest room, avoiding the common areas to spare Mom any discomfort. After nearly two days, I knew Mom was sick of feeling trapped in her room. I caught her pacing nervously around, barely talking to me. She probably saw me as the enemy, a traitor. 

She kept her distance, but I could still feel her anxiety from afar. It was hard not being able to help her feel better. I hated how unhappy she felt about the whole situation, but at the same time, I still enjoyed knowing Dad was around to get to know Summer better just downstairs. 

They listened to classic records on our old, dusty record player. I held that record player dearly in my heart; it was the only remaining part of our old house and childhood. Dad recognized it; he told Summer about his life when he was young and when he saw The Beatles. I was surprised when Summer shared with us that she enjoyed their music. 

“Do you think Grandma will come down for my birthday tomorrow?” Summer asked. 

“That would be nice,” Dad commented. 

Summer looked at me, waiting for me to respond. 

I don’t know,” I said truthfully. I didn’t want to disappoint her. 

I woke up early the next day while she was in school to prepare everything for Summer’s birthday. I made Mom breakfast before leaving, took it to her room, and asked her how she was doing, and of course, she said, “Not ok.” 

“Well, today is your granddaughter’s birthday, and we would all appreciate it if you could join us,” I told her. 

She looked down. “Well, now I feel pressured,” she murmured. 

I didn’t want to nag her too much, so I told her I had to get things for the celebration and went about my day. 

I decorated the living room with many balloons and a ‘happy birthday’ banner. The table was full of presents. I was hoping Summer would feel special. Guests began arriving, including her father, who came in holding the cake. Behind him was his sister Julie, whom Summer adored. Summer greeted everyone warmly and seemed to be having a lovely time, but there was still no sign of Mimi. 

“Maybe I should go have a word with your mother,” Dad suggested. 

I shook my head, and before I could speak, he continued. “I’ll just go now,” he said before turning around and heading towards her room. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad,” I said, following him. He made it to her room and knocked. 

Naturally, my mom said, “Come in,” thinking it would be me or Summer. 

Mom was sitting in front of her vanity when Dad opened the door. She was surprisingly calm after seeing him. She looked pretty. 

“Michelle,” Dad said. 

“Ramon,” She answered. 

“It’s nice to see you.” Mom didn’t answer and looked at me instead. 

“We want you to join us downstairs. We’re going to sing Happy Birthday and open presents soon,” I announced. 

“I was going to be there in five minutes,” she told me. Containing my grin was a struggle. 

After that, the night went smoother than I ever hoped. Summer cried after blowing out her candles, which made me shed a tear of my own. I wished my sisters could be there to enjoy the moment. 

“What a beautiful family,” Dad said to Mom. 

She nodded, and I wrapped one arm around her, amused that she was there with us. 

Seeing my mother putting her differences aside to make us happy wasn't new to us, but it was with all matters concerning my father. Although she kept her distance from Dad, she was there, at least. We all sat in the living room and watched old VHS videos of us when we were younger. There was this unmistakable feeling that tonight was special for everyone. 

As the days passed, it was pleasant to see my mother have breakfast with the family and be ok with the situation. She enjoyed seeing Summer happy, even though she barely spoke with Dad. He would still try very hard, and he was charming about it. 

Dad frequently apologized to Mom for his actions in his youth, a gesture that brought me joy as I witnessed his growth. Mom appeared indifferent, seemingly unaffected by the past. Nonetheless, I remained proud of her for venturing beyond her comfort zone. My father's palpable love for my mother gradually broke through her defenses, and she began to embrace it slowly but surely. 

She wouldn't necessarily be warm towards him, but she accepted his presence, which, for my father, was still a victory. He frequently praised Mimi despite her reserved nature. I could only empathize with her, contemplating how I'd feel in her position. Aging isn't easy, and facing it without a partner must amplify feelings of loneliness. 

Summer wanted them to be together romantically again, and although I would say it wouldn’t happen, I secretly wanted it as well. Before the hurricane, I would have deemed it impossible, but circumstances had shifted significantly. Amidst the chaos, I wondered if this storm could catalyze transformation, a chance for us to confront the issues that had long been hiding beneath the surface. And I did as best as I could to achieve it. I finished a call with my sisters and was delighted to hear they would visit us soon. I headed towards the living room. Dad had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV. My mother entered from across the room, unaware of my presence. She closed the big window, grabbed a blanket, and tenderly draped it over Dad. In that fleeting moment, she still cared for him. I flashed back to me as a child, witnessing them swaying to the tune of Unchained Melody playing on that same old record player. 

Yareth Lechner's short story won third prize in the 2024 Humanities & Sciences Undergraduate Writing Contest. Her personal essay "One Night as Chewbacca" won second prize. Yareth is a second-year film student at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. She is passionate about storytelling in all its forms, from screenwriting to essays to prose. Her work often explores themes of identity and connection. She loves immersing herself in music and film when not creating, constantly looking for fresh inspiration.