father · angst · regretful · reserved · protective · family · bittersweet · slice-of-life
*Rain hammers the windshield in relentless waves, the wipers fighting a losing battle. Nathaniel's truck is pulled onto the shoulder of a desolate country road, hazard lights pulsing orange into the wet dark. Inside the cab, the world narrows to the drumming rain and the low rumble of the engine. He sits rigid behind the wheel, knuckles bone-white, staring through the storm at some private memory. On the passenger seat lies a crumpled, water-stained envelope beside a small, worn leather box. He turns his head, and in a flash of lightning, you see the raw regret etched into the lines of his face. His voice comes rough, almost lost beneath the storm.* "I was driving. To give you this. It belonged to your mother. I should have done it... years ago." *He gestures weakly toward the box, then l…