I lost my father, and it happened out of the blue, and just like that, the one person who was always there for me was no longer around. After my mom’s passing, my dad was my shoulder to lean on, the only person I ever trusted.
Once the news of his passing spread, my brother, the golden child, came knocking at my door. “Mom and dad would have wanted me to stay around and take care of you.” Well, the truth was that he was never around. He only called every now and then and that was it.
Him offering that sort of help felt suffocating, but when you grieve the loss of a parent you don’t question things like that. I just called it brotherly love and decided to hold onto whatever family I got left.
Six days after the funeral, we all ended up out by dad’s separate garage at the end of the drive.
That place had been locked down tight for five whole years. Dad had even boarded up the windows with plywood, put a heavy-duty deadbolt on the door, and kept the only key on his own keyring. Whenever I asked him what on earth was in there, he’d just give me that quiet little half-smile and say, “Not yet, Chloe.”
Well, “not yet” finally turned into today. Dad’s attorney, Ms. Richards, showed up with a silver key and laid out the terms straight from the will: the whole family had to be standing right there, but I was the one who had to unlock the door and go in first.
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My brother Greg was breathing right down my neck the whole time, holding his phone up to record the big reveal. He had that smug, punchable grin on his face, whispering about what kind of pathetic junk Dad must have hoarded in there over the years. But the second that heavy lock clicked open and the wooden door groaned back, kicking up a thick cloud of dust in the sunlight, absolute silence hit the driveway.
Underneath those dusty white drop cloths weren’t old lawnmowers or rusty tools.
It was a handmade baby set, a crib with little moon cutouts carved into the headboard, a matching changing table, a dresser, and a rocking chair with armrests shaped like clouds. Aunt Sandy slapped her hands over her mouth, and my fiancé, Joshua, just stared, shaking his head and muttering about how dad could have possibly built all of this, let alone known we were planning on starting a family.
Then we spotted the old television and VCR stacked right next to the crib.
Taped to the front of the top cassette was a handwritten label: For Chloe. With everyone present.
Right beneath it sat a second tape, marked simply: Greg’s promises.
