Saturday morning started like any other. I was lounging on my couch, enjoying a peaceful moment with a book and a cup of tea. The tranquility was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door. To my surprise, my father stood there with a huge grin and his arms full of colorful toys. “Dad? What’s all this?” I asked, puzzled by the unexpected visit. His cheerful expression turned to confusion when I said, “I don’t have any kids.” He frowned and said, “Come on, Lizzie. Don’t play these games with me.” I thought he was kidding at first, but the serious look on his face told me that this was not just some stupid joke. “Let me see them,” he insisted, and he barged into my house without even waiting for my reply. He ran upstairs, to my home office, and I heard him gasp loudly. “What have you done to their room?!”  Immediately, I followed him up the stairs, and I was just as confused as he was by this whole thing. I asked, “What are you talking about, Dad? Whose room?” but he didn’t reply. He just muttered, “I… I don’t… Where are they?!” and he ran around the house, getting more and more upset by the second. I tried calming him down, but he just wouldn’t listen. “How could you?!” my father yelled at me, and then he disappeared. He just left without saying another word. I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up, and I became quite worried. Hours passed without anyone hearing from him at all. Little did I know that the shock of my life was waiting for me… But what was going on with Lizzie’s father? Why did he want to see her kids? And what would happen next? My aunts and uncles had recently started asking me, “Liz, it’s about time you started thinking about having children, don’t you think?” and it cost me so much effort not to roll my eyes every time I heard that question. Luckily, my parents were more patient, and they respected my decision to wait just a bit longer until I got married. It wasn’t that I believed only married couples could have children, but for me and my fiancé, it would definitely make things easier, as he was actually a foreigner and didn’t have the same nationality as me yet. However, my parents were still very excited to become grandparents, and I knew they would love my future children more than anything in this world. They often pointed out cute baby clothes they saw while we were window shopping, for example, or they talked about things they’d love to do “once they became grandparents.” My fiancé, Willem, knew how excited they were and often joked that it might already be a work in progress, hinting that I was already pregnant. But I wasn’t – we had agreed to wait until after the wedding, which was just a few months away. My parents were well aware of this, and respectful of our decision. So… you can imagine my surprise when I saw my dad standing at the door with all those toys, and I only got more confused when he wanted to see my kids. I still remember the look of pure horror on his face like it was yesterday. When he left the house that day, I called his phone several times, wanting to ask if he was alright. His visit had been so chaotic and there hadn’t been a moment where I could speak to him normally at all. Eventually, when he didn’t pick up even after I called ten times, I texted my mom, asking, “Everything OK with Dad?” he replied, “Yes, honey, of course. Why do you ask?” and it feels so stupid to say this right now, but at that moment, my mother’s text kind of calmed me down. It made me think, “You see? He’s fine! He was just having a bit of a moment, that’s all.” There have been days that I really hated myself for not taking action immediately, but well. There’s nothing I can do about it now. It was only many hours later that day, in the late afternoon, when I realized that something was wrong. My mom called me, and I picked up the phone, not suspecting anything. “Is Dad still with you?” she asked me, and I froze. “Erm… No, he’s not. He left just before I sent you that message earlier today. Why?” I replied, already feeling hat something was off. Panic started to rise as hours passed with no sign of my father. The longer the silence stretched, the more I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong. I tried calling him repeatedly, but each time, it went straight to voicemail. Anxiety gnawed at my insides, and I couldn’t help but worry if he had gotten lost or worse. It was so unlike him to just disappear. I called my brother Jeff, who lived a few towns over, hoping he might have heard from Dad. He picked up quickly, and I blurted out, ‘Jeff, have you seen or heard from Dad? He just left in a hurry and hasn’t come back.’ Jeff’s voice was calm but concerned as he replied, ‘No, I haven’t. That’s odd. Are you sure he didn’t mention where he was headed?’ ‘No clue. He just stormed out,’ I responded, my voice shaky. Jeff sensed the urgency in my tone and immediately jumped into his car to come over. ‘I’m on my way, Liz. Hang tight,’ he assured me before hanging up. The wait felt excruciating as minutes turned to hours. Having Jeff on his way brought a slight sense of relief, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen. Alone in my apartment, I paced the living room restlessly. My mind raced with possible scenarios and none of them good. Every small noise made me jump, and the ticking clock seemed louder than ever. I tried to distract myself by cleaning up, but I couldn’t focus on anything except the gnawing worry. The silence of the apartment felt eerie, amplifying my unease with every passing second. Just as I was about to call the police, I heard my phone buzz. My heart leaped into my throat as I scrambled to grab it. The screen displayed a new message, and I quickly opened it, hoping for some word from Dad. Instead, it was from an unknown number. My hands trembled as I read, ‘Found this phone in the park. Thought I should reach out to its owner.’ It was a message from my dad’s number, but it wasn’t him — it was an unknown person saying they had found his phone abandoned in the park. ‘Who is this?’ I texted back anxiously. I stared at the screen, willing a quick response. ‘Name’s Jake. Found the phone by the bench near the pond,’ came the reply. My heart raced as I thought, ‘What was Dad doing there and why leave his phone?’ Jeff arrived an hour later, and we decided to head to the park where the phone was found. He barged in, looking as frantic as I felt. ‘We need to find him, Liz,’ he said urgently. I nodded, grabbing my jacket. Without another word, we rushed out of the apartment and drove quickly to the park. My mind was a whirlwind of worry and hope as we drove in silence. The park was a place my father used to take us when we were kids, which added to the eerie nostalgia. Memories of picnics and fishing with Dad filled my head, casting a surreal feel over the situation. Jeff parked the car, and we stepped out onto the familiar paths. ‘Let’s split up,’ Jeff suggested. ‘We’ll cover more ground that way.’ I nodded, glancing around anxiously. We split up to cover more ground. The layout of the park was still imprinted in our minds, and we each knew which parts to check. ‘I’ll start near the old playground,’ I told Jeff. He nodded and headed towards the pond. We hurried off in our respective directions, each driven by the gnawing need to find Dad. Every rustle of leaves heightened my sense of urgency. Jeff checked by the pond, while I scanned the area near the old playground. The park felt oddly deserted, heightening my anxiety. A couple of kids played on the swings, but there was no sign of Dad. ‘Dad!’ I called out several times, my voice echoing eerily. Meanwhile, Jeff examined every bench and shrub near the pond, looking for any clues. We needed to find him soon. My heart pounded with anxiety as I called out his name, hoping for any sign of him. ‘Dad!’ I shouted, my voice trembling. The park remained eerily silent, only the distant laughter of children breaking the quiet. I walked faster, scanning the area for his familiar figure. Each minute felt like an eternity as I searched for any trace. ‘Dad, where are you?’ I called again, feeling desperation claw at my chest. Finally, we met back at the park entrance, both looking defeated. Jeff shook his head, indicating he hadn’t found Dad either. ‘What now?’ he asked, worry lining his face. ‘Let’s try calling Mom again,’ I suggested, pulling out my phone. Maybe she had more information, or perhaps Dad had gone home. Jeff nodded in agreement, his brows furrowed as he dialed her number. Our hope hinged on Mom’s next response. ‘Still no sign of him,’ I told Mom over the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. The words felt heavy as I glanced over at Jeff, who looked equally anxious. ‘Are you sure, sweetheart?’ Mom asked, concern evident in her voice. ‘Not a trace,’ I replied. The silence on the other end of the line felt deafening. ‘We’ll keep looking,’ I added, though my confidence was waning. Mom sounded worried but kept her composure. ‘Okay, I’ll get in the car and start driving around the neighborhood,’ she said decisively. ‘Maybe I’ll spot him somewhere.’ I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. ‘Thanks, Mom. Let us know if you find anything?’ Jeff and I exchanged anxious glances. ‘You too,’ she said before hanging up. The uncertainty gnawed at us, but at least we had a plan. Meanwhile, Jeff and I decided to head back to my apartment, hoping Dad might return there. ‘Maybe he just needed some time alone,’ Jeff suggested, trying to sound hopeful. I forced a smile, but my worry wasn’t so easily displaced. ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I agreed, though doubt lingered in my mind. The walk back felt long and our conversation was filled with what-ifs and could-have-beens. We just needed to find him, soon. Just as we were about to leave, we saw a familiar figure limping toward the park gate. ‘Wait, is that Dad?’ Jeff exclaimed, squinting to see better. My heart leapt as the figure got clearer. ‘Dad!’ I shouted, running toward him. He looked tired and disoriented, his steps unsteady. ‘Thank God,’ Jeff murmured, following closely behind me. Relief washed over me, but questions swirled in my mind. It was Dad, and he looked disoriented and tired. His usually neat shirt was wrinkled, and his hair was a mess. ‘Dad, what happened?’ I asked, trying to keep calm. He blinked at us, his eyes unfocused. ‘Lizzie?’ he said, almost as if unsure. ‘Yes, it’s us,’ Jeff said, stepping closer. Dad’s face crumpled with confusion, and he seemed unable to anchor himself in the present moment. He didn’t seem to recognize us at first, starting to ramble about the kids again. ‘Where are they? They need me,’ he muttered, his eyes darting around. ‘Dad, there are no kids,’ Jeff said gently. Dad shook his head, as if trying to clear a fog. ‘No, I have to find them,’ he insisted. Jeff and I exchanged worried looks, unsure of how to respond. We had to get him home. We guided Dad back to my apartment, his steps heavy and slow. ‘Just take it easy, Dad,’ I said, my voice soft. He glanced at me briefly but continued mumbling about finding the children. ‘Almost there,’ Jeff encouraged, holding Dad steady. Once inside, we eased him onto the couch. ‘Rest here for a bit,’ I urged him, though his agitation was palpable. ‘We need to figure out what’s going on,’ Jeff whispered to me. He seemed agitated, continuously mumbling about needing to find the children. ‘Dad, you need to rest,’ I insisted gently, but he shook his head. ‘I can’t, Lizzie, they need me,’ he mumbled, looking around the room as if searching for something invisible. Jeff rubbed his forehead, clearly at a loss. ‘What do we do?’ Jeff asked quietly. I didn’t have an answer; all I knew was that something was very wrong with Dad. Seeing Dad’s confusing and frantic behavior made it clear that we needed professional help. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number of Dr. Miller, a trusted family friend and our long-time doctor. ‘Dr. Miller, it’s Lizzie. We have a situation with Dad,’ I explained hurriedly. He could hear the urgency in my voice. Without hesitation, he promised to come over right away for an immediate consultation. Dr. Miller arrived quickly, considering the urgency. He stepped into our home with his usual calm demeanor, but his eyes reflected concern. ‘Hello, Lizzie. Let’s see what’s going on with your Dad,’ he said, setting down his black bag. He started with the basics, checking Dad’s vitals and asking him straightforward questions. Dad remained agitated, occasionally mumbling about the kids, which only deepened Dr. Miller’s frown. After assessing Dad’s vitals, Dr. Miller suggested something that confirmed our worst fears. ‘Lizzie, Jeff, I think it’s best we take your dad to the hospital for a full evaluation,’ he said firmly. ‘His behavior suggests it might be something serious, possibly neurological.’ The room seemed to constrict around us as the gravity of his words sank in. ‘We’ll get him there,’ I replied, my voice barely steady. We bundled Dad into the car with utmost care, his agitation making the process slow and nerve-wracking. ‘Just stay calm, Dad. We’re going to the hospital,’ Jeff reassured him. Despite our efforts, Dad kept mumbling about the imaginary children, refusing to sit still. Jeff drove carefully but swiftly, the tension in the car palpable. Every minute felt crucial; we knew time was of the essence. At the hospital, doctors promptly took Dad in for a series of tests. Jeff and I filled out forms and answered questions as best we could. ‘How long has he been acting like this?’ one nurse asked. ‘Just today,’ I replied, although it felt like much longer. They whisked Dad away for brain scans, blood tests, and other procedures, leaving us to wait in the sterile, cold waiting room. Jeff and I sat in the waiting room, trying to piece together what could be wrong. The pale blue walls and antiseptic smell did nothing to calm our nerves. ‘What if it’s something really bad?’ Jeff whispered, not meeting my eyes. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ I said, trying to inject some optimism. But the worry gnawed at both of us, making the wait almost unbearable. Our minds raced through endless possibilities. ‘Could it be mental illness? Maybe dementia?’ I voiced my fears aloud. ‘He’s too young for dementia,’ Jeff replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. ‘What if it’s a brain tumor?’ I whispered. Each possibility we discussed offered no comfort, only increasing our anxiety. Dad’s bizarre actions from earlier replayed in my mind, making the unknown feel even more daunting. Evening turned to night as we continued to wait, the hospital’s bright lights contrasting the darkening world outside. ‘We’ll hear something soon,’ Jeff said, his voice weary. The hours rolled by slowly, each minute stretching longer than the last. Nurses moved about, occasionally glancing our way with sympathetic looks. The ticking clock on the wall seemed louder, each tick a reminder of the uncertainty we faced. Finally, a doctor approached us with a grave expression on his face. ‘Are you the family of Mr. Thomas?’ he asked, confirming what we already knew. ‘Yes, that’s us,’ I answered, my voice edged with apprehension. Jeff and I exchanged worried glances as the doctor gestured for us to follow him to a quieter corner. We braced ourselves for the news, hearts pounding in sync with our steps. The doctor spoke carefully, choosing his words with precision. ‘We’ve found some abnormalities in your father’s brain scans,’ he began, pausing to let the words sink in. ‘We need to conduct a biopsy for a more definite diagnosis.’ The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe. ‘Abnormalities?’ Jeff asked, bewildered. The doctor nodded, a look of deep concern in his eyes. ‘We’ll know more soon,’ he assured us. The wait for the biopsy results felt excruciatingly long. Each passing day seemed slower than the last, filled with moments of anxious silence. Jeff and I tried to keep ourselves occupied, but nothing seemed to hold our attention for long. We knew that the results could change everything. The uncertainty left us on edge, constantly checking our phones, hoping for an update. The tension was nearly unbearable. Meanwhile, Dad was kept under observation at the hospital. The doctors monitored him closely, checking his vitals and conducting further tests. We were allowed short visits, which felt both comforting and painful. ‘He seems a bit better today,’ one of the nurses commented, a small glimmer of hope. It was hard to gauge his condition, but at least he was no longer wandering around aimlessly, confused and lost. During one of these visits, Dad seemed a bit more lucid. His eyes focused on us for the first time in days. ‘Lizzie, Jeff, I’m sorry for what happened,’ he said, his voice trembling. It felt like a breakthrough, even if it was just for a moment. ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ I told him, trying to hold back my tears. ‘We’re just glad you’re getting the help you need.’ He explained that he had been having vivid dreams about playing with grandchildren. ‘They felt so real, Lizzie,’ he said, struggling to find the right words. ‘In my confused state, those dreams felt like reality.’ Jeff and I listened carefully, trying to piece everything together. ‘So when you came over, you really thought…?’ I trailed off, receiving a nod from Dad. The confusion and distress he felt made more sense now. Before I could ask more, Dad drifted off to sleep. His frail body relaxed on the hospital bed, and his breathing became steady. ‘We should let him rest,’ Jeff whispered, gently touching my arm. I nodded in agreement, feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow. We quietly left the room, knowing we needed to get some rest ourselves. The situation was far from resolved, but at least Dad was in a safer place. The doctors continued to monitor him closely, hoping for more clarity. Regular scans and tests became part of his daily routine. ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ one doctor assured us during a check-up. Jeff and I took turns staying by Dad’s side, watching for any signs of improvement. The medical staff was incredibly supportive, but the uncertainty still weighed heavily on our minds. We yearned for answers, yet dreaded what they might be. The day finally came when the doctor called us into his office to discuss the biopsy results. ‘Please have a seat,’ he said, his tone serious. Jeff and I exchanged nervous glances and sat down. The doctor’s face was unreadable, adding to our anxiety. ‘What could it be?’ I thought, my heart racing. He opened a folder, taking a deep breath before speaking. We braced ourselves for the news that could forever change our lives. ‘Your father has a brain tumor,’ the doctor said softly, letting the words sink in. The room seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with tension. Jeff’s eyes widened in shock, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. ‘A brain tumor?’ Jeff echoed, as if saying it out loud would make it less real. The doctor nodded solemnly. ‘We need to discuss the next steps,’ he added, his voice measured and calm. Jeff and I were stunned, barely able to comprehend the impact of the diagnosis. It felt like the ground had been pulled out from under us. ‘What does this mean for him?’ I managed to ask, my voice quivering. ‘We’ll discuss treatment options, but it explains a lot about his recent behavior,’ the doctor replied. The gravity of the situation hit us like a tidal wave, leaving us gasping for breath and struggling to think clearly. The doctor went on to explain that the tumor was affecting parts of his brain responsible for memory and behavior. ‘This is why his actions have been so erratic,’ he said, pointing to a diagram on his computer screen. Jeff and I leaned in closer, trying to make sense of the medical jargon. ‘So, what now?’ Jeff asked. ‘We’ll need to discuss surgery and other treatment options,’ the doctor replied, eyes full of compassion and urgency. A treatment plan was outlined by the medical team. It included surgery to remove the tumor, followed by subsequent therapy to help Dad recover his cognitive abilities. The prognosis, however, remained uncertain. The doctors explained the risks involved and the possible outcomes. We listened carefully, trying to absorb all the information. Despite the grim reality, we clung to the hope that this was the beginning of Dad’s journey toward recovery. The day of the surgery finally arrived, and the whole family gathered at the hospital to support Dad. We took turns comforting each other, sharing nervous smiles and small-talk to keep our spirits up. ‘Everything will be fine,’ Mom kept repeating, as if trying to convince herself as much as us. Dad was prepped for surgery, dressed in a hospital gown. Despite everything, he managed a weak smile, trying to reassure us. As Dad was wheeled into the operating room, my heart pounded louder with each step. I couldn’t help but reflect on the whirlwind of events leading up to this moment. From his sudden bouts of confusion and the discovery of his phone, to the urgent hospital visits—all of it felt surreal. The reality that my father was about to undergo such a critical procedure weighed heavily on my mind. Back at my apartment, the toys still lay scattered across the living room—a bizarre reminder of Dad’s distress and confusion. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had barged in with those gifts, convinced of some imagined grandchildren. The sight of the toys now filled me with a mix of sorrow and bewilderment. Each brightly colored item seemed to mock our current reality, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment. The hours dragged on as we waited for news from the surgical team. Each tick of the clock amplified our anxiety, making time feel like it was standing still. We tried to distract ourselves with magazines and shallow conversation, but the tension was palpable. ‘How much longer?’ Jeff muttered, echoing everyone’s thoughts. Even the hospital staff seemed to move in slow motion, adding to our sense of helplessness. Finally, the surgeon emerged, looking exhausted but hopeful. We all stood up at once, eyes wide with anticipation. ‘The tumor has been successfully removed,’ he announced, his words offering a sliver of relief. ‘There were some complications, but overall, the surgery went better than we had expected.’ I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a bit, and for the first time in hours, a glimmer of hope sparkled in our eyes. The road to recovery would still be a challenging one, we were told. While the tumor had been removed, Dad would need extensive therapy to regain his cognitive functions. ‘It’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ the doctor cautioned. Jeff and I exchanged weary yet hopeful glances. The journey ahead would be arduous, but we felt a sense of renewed determination to support Dad through every step of his recovery. The doctor explained that Dad had been acting so strange because he had a brain tumor. The pressure on certain parts of his brain had caused his erratic behavior and hallucinations. Understanding this, pieces of the puzzle started to fit together. All his odd actions and confusing comments made sense now. It felt both heartbreaking and relieving to finally have a concrete explanation for what had been happening to him. Knowing the reason behind Dad’s strange behavior lifted a heavy weight off our shoulders. There was a sense of relief in having an explanation, even though the situation was far from resolved. ‘At least now we know,’ Jeff remarked, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and hope. ‘Exactly,’ I nodded, feeling lighter despite the challenging road ahead. Understanding the cause was the first step toward healing. We knew that the journey ahead would be difficult, but at least we had a clear direction now. With a definitive diagnosis and a treatment plan in place, we could focus our energies on helping Dad recover. ‘One step at a time,’ Mom said, her voice filled with quiet determination. We agreed, feeling a collective resolve. The unknown path before us was daunting, but at least we were no longer wandering in the dark. The doctors prescribed a course of physical and mental therapy to help Dad regain his faculties. Each session was designed to gradually piece back the fragments of his once-clear mind. The therapy sessions were rigorous yet necessary, involving exercises that targeted both his body and mind. It was a step-by-step process, with each session contributing to his overall improvement. Jeff and I were committed, attending every session and encouraging Dad throughout the challenging process. Each day was a step closer to normalcy, although it was clear that some things would never be the same. The routine of therapy appointments became our new normal, and while progress was slow, it was evident. Dad’s moments of clarity became more frequent, bringing glimmers of hope. Even though the road ahead was still long, each small victory was cherished. We learned to celebrate the tiny improvements, however minor they might seem. Jeff and I took turns staying with Dad to assist him and keep his spirits up. His struggle was our struggle, and we wanted him to feel supported every step of the way. ‘You’ll get through this, Dad,’ Jeff would say during their shared moments at the therapy sessions. Whenever I was with him, we played board games or watched his favorite shows, anything to keep his mind engaged and optimistic. As days turned into weeks, Dad showed signs of improvement, slowly reclaiming snippets of his old self. He started remembering small details, like the names of his favorite restaurants and childhood memories. Each recalled memory was a victory, a little piece of Dad coming back to us. His sense of humor even began to re-emerge, bringing laughter back into our home. We shared these moments, feeling our hope strengthen with each passing day. His doctors were cautiously optimistic, but reminded us that recovery would be a long road. ‘He’s making great strides, but there’s still a lot of work ahead,’ Dr. Miller said, his tone encouraging yet realistic. We understood that we had to brace ourselves for potential setbacks. Despite the challenges, seeing the light in Dad’s eyes was enough motivation to keep moving forward. Our collective strength and support would be crucial in this journey. It was heartwarming to see Dad play with the toys he had brought over, finally understanding why they had been so important to him. He picked up a toy car and turned it over in his hands, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘I really thought…’ he started, but didn’t finish. We didn’t need him to. We knew what those toys symbolized: a yearning for the love and warmth that family brings. Willem and I adjusted our wedding plans to ensure that Dad could be a part of the ceremony, as much as his health would allow. ‘We want you there, Dad,’ I told him one day, squeezing his hand gently. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he replied, his voice strong and sure. The wedding became a beacon of hope for all of us, a joyful event to look forward to amidst the struggles. The family found new ways to bond, appreciating the fragility of life and the importance of togetherness. Game nights became a staple, and our conversations often took on more meaningful tones. ‘Remember the time we went fishing at the old park?’ Dad would start, leading us into shared laughter and memories. We cherished these moments, thankful for the renewed closeness. Our love and support for each other became the foundation that helped us navigate these challenging times. Looking back, the ordeal had brought us closer, each day reaffirming the strength and love within our family. ‘We’ve got each other, and that’s what matters,’ Jeff said one evening, and his words rang true. The path had been rocky, filled with uncertainties and fears, yet we had managed to stay united. Every smile, every shared laugh, and every act of kindness solidified our bond, making us stronger and more resilient together.