Chapter 4 - The Price of Being Chosen
Daniel came home the following afternoon.
Nia heard his truck in the driveway and rushed to the living room.
He entered carrying his overnight bag.
His navy suit had been replaced by jeans and a gray work shirt.
He looked older than he had two days earlier.
“Dad?”
Daniel stopped.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he quietly said, “Hello, Nia.”
She walked toward him.
“Can we talk?”
He set his bag beside the staircase.
“I'm listening.”
She had rehearsed an apology all morning.
Now the words seemed inadequate.
“I'm sorry about graduation.”
Daniel waited.
“I didn't know the ticket situation would turn into all that.”
His expression tightened.
“Nia, don't do that.”
She frowned.
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like something happened to you.”
Nia lowered her eyes.
“You made a decision,” he continued. “You knew what you were doing. And you let me find out in front of strangers.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His voice wasn't loud.
That somehow made it worse.
“Because if you'd told me three weeks ago there were only two seats, it would have hurt. I'm not going to lie about that.”
He paused.
“But we could have talked. Maybe I could've watched from somewhere else. Maybe I could've met you afterward. There were other ways to handle it.”
Nia remembered the university's livestream announcement.
She had received that email too.
Daniel continued.
“You didn't even give me the dignity of knowing I wasn't invited.”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“That Leonard wouldn't come.”
Daniel turned his face away.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
When he looked back, his eyes were wet.
“So you were willing to lose me because you thought I'd never leave.”
Nia began sobbing.
“No. Dad, please.”
He shook his head.
“I would've done anything for you, Nia. But I can't make you respect me.”
She reached for his arm.
He gently stepped back.
That small movement hurt more than shouting would have.
“Do you want me to pay you back?” she asked desperately. “For tuition, for everything?”
Daniel stared at her.
“Pay me back?”
“I don't know what to do.”
“Nia, you think this is about money?”
He breathed out slowly.
“I paid those bills because I was raising my daughter. Not because I expected to collect something when she graduated.”
She covered her mouth.
“What I wanted,” he said, “was for you to remember who had been standing beside you when nobody was taking pictures.”
Then he picked up his bag.
“I'm going upstairs to talk to your mother.”
Nia watched him leave.
That evening, Leonard called.
“Hey, graduate! You recover from the big day yet?”
Nia sat on the edge of her bed.
“No.”
“What's wrong?”
“I hurt Daniel.”
Leonard sighed.
“Look, sweetheart, I hate that he got upset, but you're my daughter. You wanted your father there. That's natural.”
Nia stared at the wall.
“He raised me.”
“I know that.”
“Then why didn't you tell me to make room for him?”
Leonard was quiet.
“I thought you had everything figured out.”
“You knew there were only two tickets.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew I wanted both of you there.”
“Nia, I'm not responsible for whatever arrangement you made.”
She closed her eyes.
The answer wasn't entirely wrong.
The decision had been hers.
But it made her notice something she had ignored for months.
Leonard had happily accepted the seat.
He had smiled for the pictures.
He had enjoyed the applause.
Yet when the consequences arrived, he wanted no responsibility for any of it.
“Can you come over and talk to Daniel with me?” Nia asked.
“Baby, I'm already back in Atlanta. I've got meetings tomorrow.”
Her heart sank.
“Could you at least call him?”
A pause.
“I don't think that's a good idea right now.”
Nia looked at the childhood photographs on her bedroom wall.
Leonard had appeared in her life again with flattering words and promises.
Daniel had been there for the ordinary days that didn't make good pictures.
And she had treated the man who stayed as though his love required no protection.
“I need to go,” Nia said.
After the call, she opened her graduation post.
More people had asked where Daniel was.
One former teacher had written that she remembered Daniel waiting outside her classroom every afternoon.
Another friend mentioned how he'd driven half the debate team home after late practices.
Nia deleted the caption.
But she didn't replace it.
She simply closed the application.
Downstairs, she heard Daniel and Renee talking quietly.
Then the bedroom door closed.
For the first time in years, no one called up the stairs to ask whether she had eaten.
Nia sat in the silence.
She had wanted one beautiful day with the father who kept leaving.
May you like
Instead, she had damaged the relationship with the father who always stayed.
And she was beginning to understand that saying sorry might not be enough to repair it.
