“When my daughters are settled, then I’ll think about myself.”
And he truly believed it.
“I met someone,” he said. “Her name is Larissa.”
My sister and I were shocked. Larissa was thirty, half my father’s age.
She worked as an accountant at a local insurance company, was divorced, and had no children. They met at a senior citizens’ yoga class at the community center.
At first, we thought she might be taking advantage of him. But when we met her—kind, polite, soft-spoken—we noticed the way she looked at my father. And the way he looked at her. It wasn’t pity. It was peace.
The ceremony took place in the backyard of our family home, under a large mango tree decorated with tiny lights. Nothing extravagant, just a simple gathering of friends and family, roast chicken, soft drinks, laughter, and a few tears.
Larissa wore a light pink dress, her hair up, her eyes filled with tenderness. My father seemed nervous but happy, like a young man in love for the first time.
That night, while everyone was helping to tidy up, my sister joked:
“Dad, try not to make any noise tonight, okay! The walls are thin!”
“Oh, go mind your own business, you little rascal.”
Then he took Larissa’s hand and went into the master bedroom, the same one he had shared with my mother for over thirty years. We suggested he redecorate before the wedding, but he refused:
“Leaving it as it is gives me peace,” he said.
Around midnight, I was awakened by a noise. I thought it was the wind… or perhaps a cat in the garden. But then—a scream. High-pitched. Terrifying.
My sister and I jumped out of bed and ran to my father’s room. Behind the door, we heard Larissa’s trembling voice:
“No! Please… don’t do that!”
I pushed the door open.
Continue reading…
