"Dad."
The word came out broken.
I pressed my hand harder against my chest while trying to steady my breathing, but the tears kept coming anyway.
For a second, there was silence on the other end of the line.
Then his voice softened immediately.
"Anna?
That was all it took.
The concern in his voice hit me harder than everything else had.
My eyes squeezed shut as another wave of tears slipped down my face.
"Hey, talk to me," he said gently. "What's wrong?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing useful came out.
Everything felt tangled.
The memories.
The apology.
The panic.
The loneliness.
None of it made sense when I tried putting it into words.
"I'm okay," I whispered.
The second the lie left my mouth, I heard him sigh.
"No, you're not."
I wiped quickly at my face, even though he couldn't see me.
"I'm fine."
"Anna."
The way he said my name made my chest ache.
Not because he sounded angry, because he sounded worried.
I lowered my head and stared at the floor.
My breathing was finally starting to slow down, but the heaviness inside me remained.
"Did something happen?" he asked.
I hesitated.
"Kind of."
There was a brief pause.
"Are you safe?"
The question surprised me.
Out of everything he could have asked, that was what mattered to him first.
"Yes."
"Did somebody hurt you?"
My throat tightened.
The answer felt complicated.
Because technically nobody had hurt me today.
The damage had happened a long time ago.
Today just reminded me that it existed.
"I don't know," I admitted quietly.
His voice remained calm.
"You don't have to explain everything immediately."
That almost made me cry again.
Because he wasn't demanding answers.
He wasn't rushing me, he was just there.
Waiting.
I pulled my knees closer to myself.
"I think I'm tired."
"Emotionally tired?"
A humorless laugh escaped me.
"Very."
He stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again.
"Do you want advice, or do you just want your dad to listen?"
The question caught me off guard.
I stared at the wall for a second.
"I think I just want my dad."
His voice softened even more.
"Then you've got him."
Something inside me cracked.
For the first time all evening, I felt myself relax slightly.
Not because my problems disappeared.
Because I wasn't carrying them completely alone anymore.
I swallowed hard.
"I think I let somebody make me feel hard to love for a very long time."
The confession slipped out before I could stop it.
Silence followed.
Not uncomfortable silence.
The kind that meant he was choosing his words carefully.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.
"Anybody who repeatedly makes you question your worth isn't loving you the way you deserve to be loved."
The words landed directly in my chest.
I looked down at my hands.
For so long I had blamed myself for everything.
I had convinced myself that if I had been prettier, easier, calmer, funnier, less emotional, more understanding, things would've turned out differently.
But hearing my father say that made something shift, enough to matter.
"You know," he continued, "sometimes people apologize because they've changed. Sometimes they apologize because they finally understand the damage they caused. That doesn't mean you're required to heal on their schedule."
I closed my eyes.
Because somehow that felt exactly like what I needed to hear.
Not permission to hate.
Not pressure to forgive.
Just permission to feel whatever I felt.
And for the first time all evening, I stopped fighting my emotions long enough to simply sit with them.
And just like that, I felt the knot in my chest slowly loosen.
All it took was hearing my dad's voice.
As he continued speaking, calm and patient, I realized something I probably should've understood a long time ago. A father has so much impact on the life of his child. He can either become the reason they feel safe in the world or the reason they spend years trying to heal from it.
For a long time, I focused so much on everything my dad wasn't.
The years he wasn't there.
The birthdays he missed.
The moments I needed him and couldn't call him.
But sitting there listening to him now, I realized something else.
He couldn't change the past.
None of us could.
He couldn't go back and become the father I needed when I was younger.
But he could be here now.
He could choose to show up today.
And maybe tomorrow too.
That had to count for something.
As he spoke, I found myself listening more carefully. Every word felt deliberate, like he understood exactly what I needed without me having to explain every detail.
It honestly shocked me.
Out of all the men I'd spoken to in my life, he was the first one who seemed to understand me without making me feel dramatic or difficult.
Somehow, he understood parts of me that I was still trying to understand myself.
"Dad," I said quietly, "how do you know so much about this stuff?"
A soft laugh came through the phone.
"That's a discussion for another day," he replied.
I smiled slightly.
Then his voice grew quieter.
"But just know this. I once met a woman exactly like you, and I messed up. To this day, I still don't know how to make it up to her."
The words settled heavily in my chest.
I already knew who he was talking about.
My mum.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then I spoke.
"You can't make the past up to her."
He stayed quiet.
"But you can make the present count," I continued. "The way you treat her now will decide what your future looks like."
His silence lasted a few seconds longer.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded softer than before.
"You're probably right."
A small smile appeared on my face.
For the first time that night, everything felt lighter.
"Goodnight, Dad," I said. "And thank you. I really needed this."
"I'm here anytime you need me, Anna."
Something about hearing those words warmed my chest.
"Goodnight."
After we ended the call, I sat there staring at my phone for a while.
I couldn't believe how much calmer I felt.
A few minutes earlier, I had been sitting on the floor struggling to breathe through a panic attack.
Now I was actually smiling.
Just from hearing his voice.
He wasn't around when I needed him most.
That pain was still there.
Forgiving him completely would take time.
But even my heart knew the truth.
I loved having him in my life.
And no amount of hurt could completely change that.