The headset crackled with a familiar voice, one that ended every sentence with that unmistakable high pitch. I leaned toward the drive-thru window, a massive grin spreading across my face. “Well, that’s a first,” I joked, knowing my dad hated fast food.
I personally bagged his burgers and fries, making sure they were perfect. As his beat-up Ford pulled up to the ledge, I noticed something wrong. He wasn’t looking at the menu; he was staring straight ahead with glazed, watery eyes.
His old truck didn’t have power windows, so I had to wait as he manually cranked the handle. The slow, rhythmic screech of the glass descending felt like a warning. When he finally looked up, tears were streaming down his weathered cheeks.
“I made it special for you, Dad,” I said, my voice trailing off as I saw his trembling hands. He didn’t reach for the bag immediately. He just stared at me, his lip quivering as if he were memorizing every detail of my face.
He finally took the food and set it on the passenger seat without a glance. “What’s wrong, Dad?” I whispered, the cold air hitting my face as the kitchen noise buzzed behind me. He looked at me one last time, his voice a broken shell of itself.
“I’m leaving you and mom,” he choked out. Before I could even process the words, he slammed the truck into gear. The tires screeched against the pavement as he sped away, leaving me standing at the window with my hand still extended.
I stood frozen, the smell of grease and exhaust filling my lungs. My coworkers were shouting about the next order, but the world had gone silent. I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and hit redial, praying it was a mistake.
Top Articles
