It’s been twenty years since I said goodbye to my father. He passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving behind memories that shaped the person I am today. Or so I thought. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened recently—a message that shook me to my core and made me question everything I believed about my past.

It was an ordinary Tuesday morning. I was getting dressed for work, sipping my usual cup of coffee, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at the screen. The number was unfamiliar, and like most people these days, I let it go to voicemail. My mornings were already hectic, and answering unknown numbers wasn’t on my priority list.

Then, less than a minute later, a text message popped up. It read: “ALICE, THIS IS YOUR DAD. I’M IN THE HOSPITAL; KINDLY GIVE ME A CALL.”

At first, I thought it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe someone hacked into an old contact or was pulling a cruel prank. My father had been gone for two decades. He passed away when I was just a teenager. We had made our peace in his final days—or at least I thought we had. So, who could possibly be sending me this message?

Against my better judgment, I called the number back. My heart was pounding as the line rang once… twice… and then someone picked up.

“Alice?” The voice on the other end was weak but unmistakably familiar. My father’s voice. It was like hearing a ghost, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“Dad?” I whispered. It felt impossible, but there was no denying it. It was him.

“I don’t have much time,” he said softly. “I need to tell you the truth before it’s too late.”

My hands were shaking as I sat down on the edge of my bed. My mind was racing with questions. How was he alive? Why hadn’t he contacted me sooner? But the only thing I could do was listen.

He told me that twenty years ago, things weren’t what they seemed. He hadn’t died from his illness as I had believed. He had been abducted—taken from our family by people who wanted something from him. He didn’t explain much, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. The story was so wild it bordered on unbelievable. But the emotion in his voice was real, and I felt my heart breaking all over again.

He said he was in the hospital now, and his time was running out for real this time. He wanted to see me—one last time. And he had a final wish.

Tears were streaming down my face as I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door. I didn’t even think about calling in to work. None of that mattered now. My father was alive, and he needed me.

When I arrived at the hospital, I found him in a small, quiet room. He looked so much older than I remembered, frail and worn down by whatever life had put him through all these years. But when he smiled, it was like no time had passed at all.

“I’m so sorry, Alice,” he said as he reached for my hand. “I never wanted to leave you.”

I nodded, too choked up to speak. We sat in silence for a moment before he finally told me what he wanted.

“I need you to forgive them,” he whispered.

I frowned. “Forgive who?”

“The people who took me. They did terrible things, but they’re gone now. There’s no point holding on to anger. I don’t want that weight on your heart.”

It was the last thing I expected him to say. After everything he had suffered, after all the years we lost, he wanted me to let go of the hate I didn’t even know I had been carrying.

We talked for hours that day, catching up on everything and nothing all at once. He told me stories about where he had been, things I can’t even begin to describe. Some of it made sense. Some of it didn’t. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was there, and I could hold his hand again.

Later that night, he passed away—this time for good. But I was there. I got to say goodbye properly. And when he closed his eyes for the last time, I knew he was finally at peace.

In the days that followed, I did what he asked. I let go of the anger. I forgave the people I had never met and never would. And somehow, it freed me.

My father’s final wish wasn’t about him at all. It was about me, and what kind of life he wanted me to live. One without bitterness, without blame. Just peace.

And for the first time in twenty years, I feel like I’m finally home.