Where is Papa?
In a small town wrapped in quiet streets and fading dreams, the Carter family once laughed around the dinner table.
“Pass the potatoes, Mom,” Shanica would say with a grin, and her little brother Ben would already be reaching for them.
Their father, Jake Carter, was the kind of man who used to whistle on his way home from work. Their mother, Anna, always had flour on her cheek from baking. Life was simple. Life was good.
But everything changed the year her father lost his job at the factory.
“I’ll find something else,” he told her mother. “Just give me a little time.”
Weeks turned into months. Bills piled up. Jake started staying out late. One night, he came home with glassy eyes and slurred words.
“Are you drunk?” her mother asked, standing at the door.
Jake laughed. “Just had one. Needed to forget.”
Shanica, only fourteen then, watched from the stairs. Her father, who once kissed her forehead and told her bedtime stories, stumbled past her without a glance.
The drinking got worse. Then came the pills.
Her mother begged, “Jake, the kids. They see everything.”
He shouted, “I’m trying! You think I like this?”
Shanica held Ben close in the bedroom. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Daddy just had a bad day.”
Ben cried softly. “Why is Dad so angry now?”
“I don’t know,” Shanica said. But in her heart, she did. Something dark had wrapped around her father and wouldn’t let go.
She remembered the way he used to be—silly, full of jokes, the kind of dad who danced in the kitchen and made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. But now his eyes were hollow, his words sharp, his laughter gone.
Her mother tried. Every day. She cleaned up the bottles, flushed the pills, and smiled for the kids like she wasn’t breaking inside. But every smile cost her more.
One morning, her mother packed a bag.
“Where are you going, Mom?” Shanica asked, eyes wide.
“I need to keep you safe,” her mother said. “We’re going to Grandma’s for a while.”
Her father stood in the hallway, red-eyed and shaking. “Don’t take them, Anna. Please.”
“You need help,” she whispered. “Come find us when you’re ready.”
They left.
At Grandma’s house, things were calmer. No shouting. No broken dishes. But no father either.
Shanica missed him terribly. She remembered how he used to make funny faces during breakfast or dance around the kitchen with her mother.
Ben, only seven, started wetting the bed again.
“Is Dad gone forever?” he asked one night.
Shanica shook her head, lying. “He’ll get better. You’ll see.”
Weeks passed. Then one day, the phone rang.
Anna answered. Her face went pale. She dropped the phone.
“Mom?” Shanica asked.
“It’s your dad,” her mother said, voice trembling. “He’s in the hospital.”
They rushed there. Her father was pale, thinner, lying on a cold bed with tubes in his arms.
“He overdosed,” the doctor said. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
Her mother sat by his side, crying.
“I messed everything up,” Jake whispered when he woke. “I’m sorry.”
Her mother took his hand. “You need help, Jake. Real help.”
“I’ll try,” he said, but his eyes were tired.
Jake went into rehab. Weeks turned into months again. They visited him when they could.
One day, Shanica sat beside him on a plastic chair.
“Do you still love us, Dad?” she asked.
Her father looked at her, tears in his eyes. “More than anything. I just forgot how for a while.”
Shanica nodded. “Please don’t forget again.”
“I won’t,” he promised. But promises were easy.
After rehab, Jake moved into a small apartment. He got a job fixing bikes. He smiled more. For a while, it seemed like he was coming back.
One evening, he invited them over.
“I made spaghetti,” he said proudly. “Just like old times.”
They ate and laughed. For a moment, Shanica saw a spark of the old Dad.
But healing is not a straight line.
A year later, her father missed Ben’s school play. “He promised,” Ben said, tears running down his cheeks.
Her mother’s hands trembled as she dialed Jake’s number. Straight to voicemail. Again.
Jake had relapsed.
They found him three days later, sitting on the floor of his apartment—his face hollow, surrounded by empty bottles and open pill packets. The curtains were drawn, the room smelled awful.
“Why?” her mother asked, her voice cracking like glass. “Why now? After everything?”
Her father stared at the floor. “I felt lonely,” he whispered. “I thought I could handle one drink. Just one.”
Her mother turned away, wiping her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. Go back to rehab, Jake. Your mother is willing to cover all the expenses.”
Her father reached out weakly. “Please… don’t give up on me.”
But Anna and the children had already started walking away.
Ben didn’t look back. Shanica held his hand, her jaw set, her heart too tired to break again.
More time passed. Shanica graduated high school, quiet and distant. Ben grew up with questions in his eyes and sadness in his smile.
One cold night, another call came.
“He’s in the hospital again,” her grandmother’s voice said.
This time, the damage was worse. His liver failing. Body too tired.
They sat around his bed. Machines beeped slowly.
“I’m sorry,” her father whispered. “For everything. For missing your childhood. For hurting your hearts.”
Her mother held his hand. “We loved you. Even when it hurt.”
Ben whispered, “I miss you, Daddy.”
Jake looked at Ben and Shanica.
“I wish I could go back.”
Shanica leaned close. Her voice broke. “I love you, Dad.”
He smiled weakly. “Thank you for still being here.”
That night, Jake Carter took his last breath, surrounded by the family he had once broken—but never stopped loving.
After the funeral, Shanica found a letter in her bag.
It was from her father.
=====
Dear Shanica,
I was never strong enough to beat it all on my own. But every day, you and Ben’s voices kept me going.
Even in my worst moments, I saw mu kid’s faces and remembered what love felt like.
Please don’t let my story be your sadness.
Be happy. Be free. Live the life I couldn’t give you.
Love always, Dad.
=====
Shanica cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. Not because he was gone. But because he had always been trying—even when he failed.
Years later, Shanica became a counselor. She helped kids with parents like hers.
Ben became a teacher. He told his students, “Be kind. You never know what someone’s carrying.”
Her mother still baked pies every Sunday, leaving one extra slice at the table.
And on the wall of their new home, hung a picture of her father, smiling on a sunny day, holding her and Ben in his arms—before the storm came.
A reminder that love, though shaken, can still remain.
Even after goodbye.
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The quote by Leo Tolstoy, “Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it,” offers a profound commentary on the nature of morality and truth.
