My mom was out of town for a few days. I told her I’d come by to water her plants, feed her cat, and maybe crash on her bed after my long shift. I was so exhausted. All I wanted was sleep.
But the moment I dropped onto her bed, something felt very wrong. The bed wasn’t empty.
There was someone already in it—a man, snoring like it was his room.
I screamed.
He didn’t even flinch. He just mumbled, turned a bit under the covers, and then said my name—like he’d known me forever.
That morning had started like any other stressful day.
By the time I walked into the café at six, the sky outside was already fading into that tired blue color, the kind that made everything feel slower.
My feet ached. My back felt like it had bricks stacked on it. And the only thing I wanted—more than food, more than sleep—was coffee. Strong, hot coffee.
The smell hit me as soon as I walked in. Roasted beans. Warm air. It felt like walking into a hug.
Bonnie, my coworker, was already ahead of me. She floated up to the counter like she lived there.
“Chamomile with a hint of peach, please,” she said sweetly, smiling at the barista like he was the sun.
I dragged myself forward and grunted, “Your strongest. Whatever keeps my eyelids open.”
The barista chuckled and handed me a big steaming cup. It smelled like bitter courage.
I tore open three sugar packets and dumped them in fast.
Bonnie raised her eyebrows as she stirred her tea gently, like she was making a magic potion.
“Sugar’s white death, you know?” she teased, smirking.
Her nails were always perfect. Her honey caught the light like golden syrup.
I didn’t care.
“My mom says that too,” I said. “Her and like, everyone else.”
Bonnie tilted her head, curious. “So… you’re not like your mom?”
I blew on my coffee and took a small sip. It burned, but in a way that felt good. Like it was shaking me awake from the inside.
“Nope,” I said. “She doesn’t touch sugar. Says it’ll make her look eighty by the time she’s fifty.”
Bonnie giggled. “And you?”
I shrugged. “I’m not worried about that.”
We found a booth near the back. The light above us flickered now and then, like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to stay on.
We started talking about nothing, then somehow ended up talking about everything. Gossip from work. Ex-boyfriends. Favorite sandwiches. And for a little while, I actually felt lighter.
Then two guys walked in around seven. Tall, with way too much cologne on. One had dimples so deep you could drop a coin in them.
They sat at the table beside ours.
“Hey,” Dimple Guy grinned. “You ladies from around here?”
Bonnie leaned in like a cat spotting something shiny.
“Born and raised in Ames,” she said, twirling her teaspoon.
I just stared into my coffee like I could hide inside it.
They kept flirting. Bonnie laughed and tossed her hair. I tugged my sleeves down and tried to disappear.
After a while, Bonnie gave me the look, then grabbed my wrist.
“Bathroom. Now.”
Inside, the second the door closed behind us, she hissed, “You’re ruining it.”
“I didn’t invite them to sit with us,” I snapped.
“They’re cute, Sadie! Can you please just be normal for one night? I’m trying to find love. Don’t make it weird.”
I looked at my watch. “I have to go. My mom’s out of town. I said I’d feed the cat, water the plants…”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Can’t your dad do it?”
I blinked. “Never met him. If he’s alive, he’s not coming by to feed a cat.”
She sighed and hugged me. Her perfume clung to my jacket like sugar.
The walk to Mom’s place wasn’t long—maybe ten minutes—but that night, it felt like miles of memories.
The wind stung my face. The porch light was still broken. Mom had said she’d fix it before leaving. She didn’t.
Typical.
The key fought me for a moment. I jiggled it, leaned my shoulder into the door. It finally gave in with a loud creak.
Inside, the house was cold and dark. Like someone had pressed pause on everything.
I flicked the switch by the door. Nothing.
“Of course,” I muttered.
I pulled up the flashlight on my phone and stepped carefully. The hallway was filled with shadows, the kind that made you feel like you were being watched.
In the kitchen, I grabbed Earl’s food, bent down to fill his bowl—and froze.
It was already full.
“What the…” I stared.
“Earl?” I called.
He appeared a few seconds later, fluffball that he was, rubbing against my ankle like I was late.
I squinted. “Okay… someone’s been here.”
The floor creaked behind me.
Just the house, I told myself. Still, my stomach tightened.
I grabbed the big flashlight and held it like a bat. My heart thudded hard.
I headed toward the bedroom.
No lights. I didn’t even try the switch. Too tired.
I dropped onto the bed—and landed on something warm.
Breathing.
Snoring.
I screamed and jumped back. Slammed the lamp on.
A man was in the bed. Older. Gray beard. Wearing Mom’s quilt like he belonged under it.
I grabbed the lamp like a weapon.
“WHO ARE YOU?!”
The man stirred, blinked, and looked at me.
“…Sadie?”
I froze.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!”
He raised his hands slowly. “Please. I can explain. Just… don’t call the cops.”
But I already had my phone out. My thumb hovered over 9.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a keyring. It was old. The leather tag looked familiar.
“I think… I think I used to live here,” he said softly.
We sat in the kitchen. The clock ticked, loud and slow.
I boiled water, my hands shaking. Not from the cold. From everything else.
The man—Dean—sat at the table, hands folded like he was praying for a second chance.
When the water was ready, I poured two cups of tea and dropped three big spoonfuls of sugar into his without even thinking.
“You take it like me,” I said. The words just slipped out.
He gave a tired smile. “Guess it runs in the family.”
Family. That word hit me like a rock.
Then he said it.
“My name is Dean. I’m… your father.”
It didn’t hit all at once. It rolled over me slow and heavy, like the tide pulling you under.
I stared at my cup.
“I don’t understand.”
Dean looked down at his rough hands.
“I left for a job 30 years ago. Construction in Mexico. The scaffolding collapsed. I was on it.”
He leaned forward.
“I woke up in a hospital. No ID. No memory. Nothing. I didn’t even know my name.”
He pulled out the keyring again. And then, slowly, he pushed back his hair to show a long scar.
“You forgot your whole life?” I whispered.
He nodded. “Something always felt missing, but I didn’t know what. Then last month… it hit me. Your mom. This house. Your name. I had to come back.”
I stared at him. The ghost my mom never mentioned. The space at our table she never filled.
“Why didn’t you call? Or write?”
“I didn’t know I was gone.”
I stood without a word, got a blanket, and laid it on the chair beside him.
“You can sleep here tonight,” I said. “But don’t expect forgiveness over a cup of tea.”
He nodded. “I won’t.”
The next morning, the smell of toast filled the air.
I came downstairs. Dean was folding clothes into an old rucksack.
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
“Didn’t want to cause more trouble,” he said.
“You are the trouble,” I muttered.
He gave a sad smile. “Fair.”
I stared at the bag.
“You know… Mom never dated anyone else. She said men leave with promises and come back with nothing.”
He sighed. “She was always right.”
The kitchen felt heavy.
“You didn’t have to pack,” I said quietly. “I didn’t say we were done talking.”
He stopped. “No?”
“I can’t forgive what I don’t remember. But maybe… I can get to know you. A little.”
He zipped the bag slowly. “Thank you.”
By noon, sunlight filled the house. It didn’t feel haunted anymore.
Dean helped me water the plants. Earl curled up at his feet, purring like he approved.
“Mom’s back Monday,” I said.
Dean chuckled. “She might faint.”
“I think… part of her always hoped for a story like this.”
We sat on the porch in silence, not quite family, not quite strangers. Waiting for something. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe not.
And when Mom finally came home…
She found us both there—waiting.