The story of a son with a reticent father.

#nana56b


Lines from the story

The other day, my old man passed away in the
hospital. It was a bitterly cold day.

I didn't really like my old man, or rather,
I just didn't care much about him.

He was a quiet workaholic who always came
home late, so I hardly remember ever
talking to him.

When I'd get up late at night to use the
bathroom and run into him in the kitchen,
an awkward silence would always hang in the
air. He was stingy by nature,
and apparently saved up quite a bit of money
behind our backs.

Once, passing his room late at night, I saw
the door slightly ajar.
Peering inside, I caught him grinning to
himself while opening a small safe.
That moment cemented my impression: this
man loved money more than his family.

So... it might be more accurate to say I
never felt much affection from him.

For all these reasons, I kept putting off
visiting him in the hospital, using my busy
work schedule as an excuse.

Then, on the day of the funeral, I saw Dad
again after so long. He lay there, emaciated.

But strangely, no tears came.

The next day, while sorting through his
belongings with Mom, I found that small safe
I'd seen back then.

I touched it, and it didn't seem locked.

I gently opened it. Inside were a portrait
of my father I'd drawn when I was little,
my elementary school report cards, and lots
of photos my mother had taken of me at
sports day.

Next to them was an envelope labeled “Son's
Wedding Expenses,” filled with stacks of
cash.

The scene from back then flashed through my
mind, and tears began to fall from my eyes.

They kept streaming down, and I couldn't
stop them.

I don't remember much, but apparently I
cried for quite a long time.

When I came to, snow was already drifting
outside the window.