“Dont invite them!” I shout. “You hear me? No matter what excuse!”
“It’s your birthday. Thirtyfive is a big one.”
“I couldn’t care less. I dont want to see them.”
“Stan, how long are you going to keep this up? Its been ten years.”
“And another ten will pass. Twenty. To me they’re dead.”
Emily sits beside me, grabs my handwarm, tense. As always, once parents are mentioned, the air tightens.
“Oliver called. He asked if he could come.”
“Harryyes. Just him. No one else.”
“He said Mums crying. She wants to see you.”
“Let her cry. Where was she when they kicked me out of the house? When I spent nights crashing at friends places?”
Its an old story. Emily knows it by heart. Second year at university, a brutal exam period, expulsion looming. My father, a retired colonel, a man of iron principles. Disgrace the familyleave. And I left. Went nowhere
“You’ve turned things around. Finished a different college, got a job.”
“On my own! No help! And Harry later bought a flat! A car! A pet!”
“Dont be angry at your brother. Hes not to blame.”
“I’m not angry. I just dont want to see my parents, not even at the doorstep.”
Emily sighs. A pointless argument, as always.
In the evening I wash the dishes, thinking of my own stuff. Of Mum, whom I havent seen for three years before she took her last breath.
Id been hurt then by her constant nagging, senseless punishments, humiliation. I moved to another city, changed my number.
Then my aunt calledMum had died of liver disease. Only one sister was left in the hospital.
Even now, in the night, Mums voice haunts me:
“Jane, forgive me,” she says, the line cutting off.
“What are you thinking about?” Stan hugs me from behind.
“About Mum.”
“Are you still beating yourself up?”
“I cant stop. I should have come back, at least to say goodbye.”
“She cheated you, Jane! She wasted your scholarship.”
“But she was ill. An addiction to strong booze is a disease.”
“And what? An excuse?”
“No. Still I could have forgiven her. Now its too late.”
Stan spins me toward him.
“Dont torture yourself. You did what you could. You saved yourself.”
“Then I lost my soul.”
“Nonsense. You have the brightest soul I know.”
He kisses my temple, and I nestle against him. He doesnt get how to live with guilt.
We decide to celebrate the birthday at home. Fifteen guestsclose friends, colleagues, Oliver with his wife.
From dawn Im buzzing around the kitchen. Salads, hot dishes, a cake ordered. Stan helpschops veg, sets the table.
“Harrys definitely coming alone?” I ask amid the chaos.
“He promised.”
“Good.”
By seven the guests start to arrive. Oliver shows up at half past seven. Two more push through the front door.
Fathergray, upright as a stick, in a stiff suit. Mothera petite woman in a floral dress, clutching a box.
Stan freezes, a bottle in his hand.
“What does this mean?” I whisper.
“Stanley, dear” Mother steps forward.
“I didnt invite you.”
“We came on our own,” the stern father snaps. “We have a right!”
“You have no right! Oliver, whats this madness?”
“Brother, calm down. Theyre my parents!”
“I dont care! Get out!”
The room goes dead. Some guests hold glasses, some plates. Awkward silence settles.
“Stan, you dont have to,” Emily touches his hand.
“No, I do!” He bursts out. “Youve ignored me for ten years! You skipped my wedding! You wont even recognise my grandson! And now you show up?”
“We just wanted to wish him happy birthday,” Mother offers the box. “Happy birthday.”
“Take your congratulations and shove them! I want nothing from you!”
“Stanley, stop the tantrum!” Father roars. “Behave like a man!”
“How did you raise me? To throw out the son who slipped up?”
“You disgraced the family!”
“I was a student! An ordinary student who flunked an exam!”
“Because of parties and girls!”
“And thats a reason to cast a son out?”
Mother starts to sob. Fathers face flushes.
“We gave you a lesson!”
“You ruined my life! If it werent for Emily, for my friends, where would I be?”
“Dont exaggerate! I survived!”
“Without you I’d have survived! And Ill keep on surviving!”
Oliver tries to intervene. “Listen, calm down. The guests”
“Let them go!” Stan turns to the door. “Out! Both of you!”
Father straightens even more. “Fine. Now I know I made the right decision. All our assets will go to Oliver, down to the last penny! And younothing. A void!”
“I dont give a toss about your money!”
“Well see how you sing when were gone.”
“The road ends here!”
The parents leave. Mother whimpers, father walks away, his steps heavy. Oliver chases after them, muttering pleas.
Silence hangs in the room.
“Sorry,” Stan says to the guests. “Family drama.”
“All right, it happens,” someone tries to ease the tension.
The celebration is ruined. Guests scatter quickly. Only Oliver remains, pale and dejected.
“Why did you bring them?” Stan asks, exhausted.
“I thought youd reconcile. Mum asked.”
“Let her ask as much as she likes. I dont care.”
“Brother, thats not right. Theyre old now.”
“And what? Old age is a pardon?”
“Father spoke seriously about the will. He wont leave you anything.”
“And thank God. I dont need his handouts!”
Oliver leaves. Emily quietly clears the table. Stan collapses onto the sofa, face buried in his hands.
“Did I do the right thing?” he mutters.
“I dont know. I get you.”
“They didnt even apologise. They came as if nothing happened.”
“Pride wont let them.”
“And my pride? Could they have trampled me?”
Emily sits beside him, hugging him. “You cant. But sometimes sometimes its better to forgive before its too late.”
“Hows your mum?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“Thats different, Jane. Your mum was ill. Mine were just cruel.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they just dont know how to love properly.”
Three years later, a regular morning, Stan prepares for work. The phone ringsOliver.
“Brother, dads in hospital. Stroke.”
Something inside snaps.
“Seriously?”
“The doctors say they might not pull through.”
“I get it.”
“Are you coming?”
“I dont know.”
“Stan, hes your father. Whatever happens.”
Stan hangs up. Emily watches, curious.
“Dads on the edge.”
“Go.”
“Why? He doesnt want me.”
“And you? Do you want him to just slip away?”
Stan stays silent, remembering childhooddad teaching me to ride a bike, fishing by the lake, firstgrade backpack and his steady hand.
When did it break? When the protector turned tyrant?
“Go,” Emily insists. “Itll be too late later.”
The hospital smells of antiseptic. Mum sits in the corridorsmall, gray, lost. She spots Stan, clutches him.
“Stanley! Youre here!”
She embraces him; he stands stiff, mute.
“Hows dad?”
“Bad. Doctors they give no hope.”
“Can I see him?”
“Hes unconscious, but they say he hears.”
The ward shows dad on a bedtubes, drips, monitors. No longer a stern colonel, just a frail old man.
Stan sits beside him, takes his dry handlight as a feather.
“Dad, its me. Stan.”
Silence. Only the monitor beeps.
“I I need to say this. I was angry. I held a grudge for years. For kicking me out. For the indifference. For loving Harry more than me.”
His hand trembles. “But you know what? I forgive you. I forgive you.”
Dads eyes flutter open, blurry, yet recognisable.
“Dad?”
His lips move.
“for”
A whisper, almost unheard. Stan leans in.
“I forgive you, dad. Its okay.”
Dads eyes close again, peaceful now.
Stan stays, holding his hand, talking about work, family, a grandson hell never meet.
That night dad passes quietly, as if in sleep. Mum says he waited for forgiveness.
After the funeral Stan and Emily sit at home, sipping tea in silence.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Weird. I thought Id feel something, but inside its empty.”
“You did the right thing, leaving.”
“You know, he said I forgive you. First time in my life.”
“Pride crumbled before the world.”
“And mine too.”
Emily lifts her head. “Jane, forgive yourself for Mum. She wouldnt want you to suffer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because parents love their children. Even those like my dadcrooked, painful, but love nonetheless. They forgive everything.”
Emily weeps. Stan pulls her close, pressing her against him.
“Were both fools. We clung to grudges, gnawed at ourselves. We should have just just forgiven.”
“Now we know.”
“Now its too late.”
“For them, perhaps. But were alive. We can live without that burden.”
Outside, snow fallsthe first of the season, pure and white. Like forgiveness. Like a fresh page.
Stan thinks of his father. How they could have mended sooner. How much time wasted on anger.
But at least he said the words. He heard them. And thats enough.
Be wise, learn to forgive, because parents arent eternal, and we cant choose them.
