They thought they were simply meeting to reconnect after six decades. A casual reunion, a cup of coffee, a few polite words. But what unfolded that day became something no one in their families could have imagined.
It was a reunion that carried the weight of lost time, the laughter of youth, and the quiet realization that some bonds never truly break.
Robert had lived a life filled with motion and change. He had called six different states home, served twenty years in the military, and raised two sons who, in adulthood, rarely called unless it was Father’s Day or they needed something fixed around the house.
At seventy-three, Robert walked with a cane and a slight limp, a permanent reminder of a knee injury he had sustained back in 1984 during a training drill in Arizona.
Yet, despite the physical reminders of time, he maintained his morning rituals with quiet dignity: brewing his own coffee, reading the newspaper on the porch, just as his father had done decades earlier.
