2. “Will you make her shut up?” I shouted for the umpteenth time.
Grace started up again and I was growing tired and angry of her crying. Anna, my wife, tried to soothe
her but it seemed like Grace had been placed on earth to torment me.
“She’s sick Dave. Look at her.” Anna placed the back of her hand over her daughter’s delicate forehead.
“She’s getting weaker by the day. We should take her to the hospital.”
“I don’t care…” I was exasperated. “Take the car and just take her away!”
I didn’t even want her. Why did she have to be a girl? Only if she had never been born, only if I had a
son, life would have been so much better.
I hated Grace for crying, for existing.
I hated her name.
“Don’t say that!” scolded Anna, “She’s your daughter.”
“Well, I don’t want her. You can take her away right now. Just leave.”
I left the house instead and drove to a hotel nearby to escape the torture for a few days.
I hated Grace for making my life miserable in my own house.
Two days later, I received a call from Anna. She told me that Grace had been diagnosed with a brain
tumor. She cried and cried on the phone. I could hear her misery in her sobs in every syllable of every
word. But I didn’t care. All I could think of was the money I would have to spend on the thing I never
wanted.
I had to get rid of her.
The next day I wrote Anna a letter and sent along with it divorce papers. I told her to ship Grace to an
orphanage and let them take care of her or to sign the papers.
A week later, the divorce papers came back signed with a letter from Anna, but I didn’t bother reading
it. Of course she wouldn’t leave that misfortune of a girl. I didn’t care if I had to lose Anna in order to be
rid of that thing.
I could find myself any other woman.
***
Twenty five years had passed since the incident. I was in an old age home, alone, without family, no one
to care for an old man.
I was sitting next to the window looking at my own reflection, contemplating life - thinking how
circumstance could carve away the jagged spines of even the most knotted of men.
I was dying.
3. The doctors diagnosed me with lung cancer eight months earlier, and I didn’t know how much time I
had.
Perhaps it was God’s way of getting even with me for condemning my daughter.
Just then, a nurse came by and announced a visitor. Perplexed, I rose from my seat and dragged my feet
towards the reception area. Did the doctors misplace my blood work again? It’s as if the aides took
particular pleasure in losing my blood only to return to prick and prod a dying man and draw what
remaining life he had.
When I arrived at the reception area, the only person waiting was a young, attractive womansitting
across the room. I was puzzled.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
The young woman cautiously stood up and walked slowly towards me.
“Don’t you remember me Daddy?” she responded smiling.
Did she call me Daddy? A lump began forming in my throat.
“Grace, Is that you?”
I became disoriented and looked away.
I was unsure if I was ashamed because she survived without me or if it was because she made the effort
and found me. Either way, how could she forgive a despicable man who turned his back on his family so
long ago? The thoughts and feelings inside me grew confusing and too much for me to bear. Tears
began to stream down my cheeks.
Just then a soft hand reached underneath my chin and gently guided it back. I looked into her eyes.
Standing before me was Grace smiling at me like an angel.
“Grace, my daughter!”
She moved towards me and hugged me with all her love.
How did I come to deserve the love of someone whom I had deserted? How did I -
“Come Daddy. I’ll take you home.”
And I started walking with my daughter, the girl who deserved a better father than me, a grace of God.
Location: India
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