IN AN old rusty house laid an old man. His eyes could barely see the sunlight streaming down his dusty bedroom and his fingers could barely write a single curve. The man knew his time was near, yet his heart remained dissatisfied.
It had been several years since he last saw his angel. She was the reason why he would work for hours in harsh conditions. His only companions were his trusty bicycle and the image of his daughter’s smile. The pain and suffering did not matter as long as he came home to the warmth of his child’s presence. She was his ultimate priority, until the day his former lover decided to take the child away—but that did not stop him.
He secretly wrote her letters every year. Even though he never received one back, he wrote to her until the day his hands shook to exhaustion and gave up.
Now, in his final days, all he wished for was to see her once again, to tell her stories of wonders and to ask her how her life has been.
For a brief moment, before closing his tired eyes, he saw a shadowy figure. At first, he was alarmed. As old, weak, and frail as he was, he did not have the strength to fight back.
“Hi Pa,” the figure whispered. The old man’s heart clenched, his eyes tearing up as his breath shook. He smiled softly and replied, “Hello angel, what would you like for dinner?” F MARIA PAMELA S. REYES
