What We Never Said

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Ayana’s childhood bedroom, casting long, golden streaks across the familiar floor. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open as the faint scent of old wood and lingering warmth filled the air. She hadn’t been here in years, not since everything had changed.

Something felt different. A quiet presence seemed to linger just beyond the glass door.

Rubbing her eyes, Ayana pushed back the covers and stepped onto the cool floor, the room settling around her the way it always used to.

She slid open the door to the small balcony just off her bedroom.

Her father sat in one of the old chairs, sunlight catching the silver in his hair as he stared out toward the yard. A lit cigarette rested between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air — just like it had when she was a child.

The sight of him both startled and comforted her.

“Dad?” Her voice wavered.

He turned slowly, a gentle smile forming on his face. “Hey, Yani.”

Her breath caught. It had been years since they’d spoken, and even then, their words had been clipped and guarded. She stepped outside and closed the door softly behind her.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, sinking into the chair beside him. Her eyes dropped to the cigarette in his hand, and her brow furrowed. “And why are you smoking? You quit years ago.”

He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Ayana crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair. “No, Dad. You told me you quit for good. Said you didn’t need it anymore. What happened?”

He looked down at the cigarette, as if ashamed. “I don’t know. I guess I just needed something to take the edge off this morning.”

“The edge? Of what?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “Thinking about you. Thinking about us. About how much I messed things up.”

Ayana softened, the tension in her shoulders easing. She studied his face — the crow’s feet around his eyes, the weariness behind his smile. “You didn’t mess things up, Dad. You just... didn’t know how to show up sometimes.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how to be there the way you needed me to be. And I’m sorry for that.”

Ayana hesitated, her voice trembling as she looked down at her hands. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as a storm of emotions churned inside her.

Seeing him there — so close, so calm, as though nothing had ever been wrong — made something inside her ache.

How many times had she rehearsed this moment in her mind? How many nights had she lain awake, wishing for a chance to say everything she’d bottled up for years? Yet now that the moment was here, the words felt trapped in her throat, tangled with memories that were too raw to name.

One particular memory came to mind — one she hadn’t thought about in years.

“Do you remember the day my second-grade teacher humiliated me?” she finally asked. “When she asked how I would get to an island, and I said ‘by a car’?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“She made me feel so small, Dad,” Ayana said quietly. “She told me I was dumb right in front of the whole class. And then she told you about it — and instead of defending me, you agreed with her.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she continued. “I needed you to protect me. To stand up for me. But you didn’t. You just laughed it off, like it was nothing.”

Her father rubbed the back of his neck, looking pained. “Yani, I...”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice firm but trembling. “You always found fault in everything I did. Nothing was ever good enough for you.”

She swallowed hard before continuing.

“But you had all the praise in the world for Devon. Your nephew could do no wrong, even after he got fired from the NBA for drugs and alcohol.”

Her father’s face fell. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ayana said quietly. “You treated him like he was perfect and treated me like I was never enough.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I even asked you once why you praised him but never me.”

Her voice dropped.

“And you told me, ‘I’ll praise you when you do something worth praising.’”

Silence stretched between them.

“Do you know how that felt, Dad?” she whispered. “Do you even understand what it did to me?”

He was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re right. I failed you in so many ways. I thought tough love would make you stronger, but all it did was push you away.”

Ayana wiped her eyes, her voice softer now. “I didn’t need tough love. I needed love, period.”

She took a shaky breath. Memories flooded back — those first few years after her parents separated. How she’d blamed her mother for driving him away, resenting her for the void he left behind. And later, how that blame shifted inward, convincing herself it was her fault.

She remembered sitting on the front steps, clutching her overnight bag, waiting for hours for him to pick her up — only to realize he wasn’t coming. The sharp sting of rejection still lingered, even after all this time.

“And after you and Mom split up, it got worse. You left this huge void in my life, Dad. And every time you said you were coming to get me for the weekend, I’d wait for hours, but you wouldn’t show up.”

Her voice cracked. “Do you know how alone that made me feel? Like I wasn’t important enough to you?”

Her father bowed his head, the cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “I know I let you down. I wasn’t there when you needed me most, and I hate myself for that.”

“I hated how you chose being with other women over spending time with me,” Ayana said, her voice cracking. “I tried so many times to talk to you about it, but you just wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t let me in.”

Her father swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “I was selfish. I didn’t see the damage I was doing to you, Yani. I was too caught up in my own pain after the divorce to realize how much you were hurting.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes.

“I’m listening now, Yani,” he said softly. “And I am so sorry. For all of it. I can’t change the past, but I need you to know I see you now. I see the woman you’ve become — and I am so proud of you.”

Her eyes burned. She wanted to believe him, but the walls she had built were hard to tear down.

“Why now?”

“Because I didn’t want another day to go by without telling you.”

Ayana looked away, wiping her cheeks.

“Do you even know what it’s been like for me? Carrying all this around?” she said quietly.

“I’ve spent years in therapy trying to work through all these feelings — trying to heal from relationships that mirrored what I went through with you.”

She took a shaky breath.

“My therapist told me I had to learn how to forgive myself first, for believing your absence was my fault. She said I needed to rewrite the stories I told myself about love, about worth, and about what I deserved.”

“I’ve done exercises where I wrote letters to my younger self, telling her she was enough, that she mattered.”

“And I’ve stood in front of the mirror, looking myself in the eye, saying out loud that I am worthy of love and protection.”

“It hasn’t been easy, but I’m finally starting to believe it.”

She swallowed.

“Because for so long, I chose men who made me feel small. Men who left me waiting, wondering what I did wrong.”

Her father looked devastated. “I never wanted that for you.”

“But it happened, Dad,” she said softly. “And I’m still working through it. Still trying to find peace.”

The sincerity in his eyes disarmed her. Tears slipped down her cheeks as he squeezed her hand.

“I love you, Yani. Always have, always will.”

She squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth she had longed for. “I love you too, Dad.”

They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words lifting as the world hummed around them.

When they finally stood, he pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly before stepping back.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Ayana blinked — and he was gone.

Her eyes flew open. She was in bed, tangled in the sheets. The balcony door was closed. The morning light had shifted, signaling the passage of time.

Her heart pounded as she searched the room for any trace of him.

There was none.

A dream.

It had felt so real.

Wiping away a tear, Ayana stood and walked to the balcony. She opened the door and stepped outside, letting the breeze wash over her.

She could still feel his embrace. Still hear his voice echoing in her ears.

For the first time in a long while, she felt lighter.

Even if it had been a dream, it was enough.

She finally understood — closure didn’t have to come while someone was living. It could begin with her.

“I love you too, Dad,” she whispered, and the wind carried her words away.