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His wife was dead. Daniel Charles sat on the bench by the mural of names by the hospital. His eyes kept fixated on one name in particular- Caroline ‘CeCe’ Charles. His hands kept folded in his lap, his chest full of a dull emotion that kept itself nestled deep down since the very beginning.
When Caroline had been diagnosed with cancer the first time, the two had hope. The second time, it had seemed as if she was getting better, and then she took a turn for the worst. He remembers breaking down alone near the kitchen when it finally hit him that he would lose her far before he lost himself in this life. The tears stung then, and they still stung now whenever he got choked up over her passing. The two left on a plane for a vacation, but only he came back, an urn in his hands. Most of her ashes got buried, but a small portion took place in the shells of a few necklaces. His oldest daughter, Robin, had one. He had the other. He only wore it in public, or else he would falter at work emotionally.
He looked down at his warm hands as a cold breeze swept by, making his shoulders hunch over a bit as he leaned down to get a better view of his fingers, studying how a few jittered due to not being able to keep still in this temperature. He had a lot of regrets for his wife. Divorcing Caroline was one of them. Not spending time with his kids and being a good father was another. Not doing things better with Sarah Reese was the third, equal regret on this list. The woman had seen him as a father and he let her down. And when she left, he felt now as if he did not do enough to stop her. There was so much he still wanted to say to her.
His thoughts were distracted away when he heard a buzz in his coat pocket. He reached his one hand in and pulled out his phone, the light of the screen causing his eyes to squint a bit. The clouds had made it awfully dark today, and Daniel felt that ironic. He was glad his mood didn’t affect the weather- his internal mood. His eyes soon adjusted and he could tell it was a text, yet it was from a number he did not recognize. He still opened it up, wanting to read the contents of what he presumed was spam. His youngest, Anna, had always teased him growing up that he gave spam texts more face value than needed. However, this was not a spam text, and as he read over the contents of the small message, his eyes widened.
‘Hey. This is Sarah Reese. I am so sorry for the passing of your wife. I just heard about it. I want to talk if you’d feel comfortable talking to me.’
Sarah Reese. The name alone made his heart pause before speeding up to catch up with its lack. His breath felt colder than the wind. Sarah Reese had been broken even more by him. He had unintentionally shattered her all over again, and years later, she was ready for some sort of chat. He had no clue he had been staring at his phone for five minutes before the hour changed on the top of his phone screen. Texting slowly with his one thumb, he delicately typed out a message.
‘Thank you. I am free to call or text.’ His thumb moved on instinct to send, his mind racing too much. Daniel often prided himself in knowing what to do. He was cool, calm, and collective- but not when it came to the people he loved. He was expecting Sarah to lash out on all the pain she felt from him, and he was not going to stop her if she felt that way. As a mental health professional, he knew too well how she was justified to do such if she wanted to. He ignored the world about him when his ringtone went off. Her number was calling him. He stared at it for five seconds before whispering something to himself.
“Caroline…please help me.” This whisper was very faint, but after he said that, he fixed his posture and hit the green accept button. He brought the phone up to his left ear with the hand corresponding to that side. “Hello?” His voice was calm, not showing any cracks. He had always been such a good actor when vulnerable. As long as she did not see his face in this moment of stress, he would be okay.
He could hear a sharp exhale from the other side. “Doctor Charles.” It felt both nostalgic and painful to hear the name she always called him said. Nostalgic because he had missed her. He missed having someone around who he could teach and comfort. His two biological kids were not as fond of comfort from their father at the moment, especially considering the living situations was a stark difference. It hurt because he knew how she once felt about him, and how that parental feeling for him may have died. “My dad died in prison last week.”
Daniel could not hear pain in her voice, but he knew it was there somewhere. Despite him not being around and being a psychopath, Sarah’s father had a daughter who had one major strength that was deemed to also be her biggest weakness- a big heart. Daniel sighed. “I am so sorry, Sarah. Was it…his condition?” The condition he almost let Haywood die from. He had hesitated to even ask.
Sarah’s voice came quickly over the phone, her voice still as curious and full of passion as it had when she had been working with him back in the day, wheeling his wheelchair as he told her about patients to help with. “He did. The issue was that, this time, no one could help him. They called him a ticking time bomb.” There was silence over the line. The great psychiatrist, Daniel Charles, had no clue what to say. But, lucky enough for him, he did not have to speak another word. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to him. It just happened.”
“Sarah, I’m sorry-” the salt and pepper haired man began.
Sarah cut him off. “And I fear that if I never set things right with you, I’ll never be able to say goodbye to you.” Her voice cracked, and Daniel knew his comforting instincts had to come in.
“Sarah- hey. It’s okay.” His voice was soft and comforting, as if she was crying against his shoulder once more.
“It took me a year to forgive you,” she began, needing to get this out of her system before she fully broke down, “but I learned that sometimes people do wrong things to protect those they love. You were trying to keep me safe, because in your eyes, my father was not a good man.” She sniffled, and he heard that over the line. “It’s been hard to make this text, let alone this call.”
Daniel felt tears pricking at his ears. This had been the most important phone call in the past year for him when it came to emotions. He did not get a call when CeCe died. He was lucky. He got to say goodbye, as painful as it was. He had a newfound appreciation for his circumstances. He just listened to her.
“Doctor Charles- Dad-” she began to sob out, “I forgive you.”
That whole sentence had him standing there. He could not hear the wind or people walking around as it became time for many to walk to work. All he could hear was her words looping in his head over and over. She still felt the same about him- and she forgave him. He snapped out of his cold look of lostness when he heard her sniffles and her soft cries.
“Are you in Chicago?” Daniel's own voice had cracked during that question.
She sniffled and was silent for a second. “Yes.”
He looked down to his watch on his one hand, even if the phone against his ear would tell him the time with a quick glance. Today was his day off. He only had promised to attend dinner with Susan and some of the staff he had grown to see as his best friends. “Text me your address and I’ll figure out how to put that in the CPS app. I’ll be right there and I’ll call when I’m close.”
He began to walk over to the spot where his car was. Sarah spoke up. “See you soon,” she sniffled.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” He hung up as he finished saying that, looking down at his phone as he saw the call time. Then it clicked. He had called her the endearing term his parental instincts had been keeping down for so long.
He opened the car door to the driver’s seat , putting his phone in his pocket, and sat down. “Thank you for leaving me with a miracle, CeCe.”