I Know
SARAH
Dad did come back later, just as he had promised. We had dinner in my bedroom, watched a little comedy movie, and when it was time for me to sleep, I lay down on the bed while he settled on the sofa in my room.
For some reason, he said he just wasn't ready to leave me alone yet.
That went on for three days, him sleeping on the sofa, me in the bed until Dr. Chen was finally satisfied that I could start moving around the house again. He said he would still be monitoring me closely, but I wasn’t bed-tied anymore. I could do normal things now, go to breakfast, walk around the house, you know.
Anyway, that was good. Because then, Dad and I created a new routine.
We would have breakfast together every morning. It became our time. Lunch wasn’t a given, since most of the time he wasn’t at the house during the day. Business still called. But he always tried to make it back home for dinner.
I wasn’t used to it. This... rhythm. This kind of consistency. But it had felt so good. Because he was finally here. He could finally see me.
And he wasn’t holding back.
I think he was also going the extra mile, making sure that every night he came home, I either had flowers, or he brought my favourite chocolate, or, you know, a necklace, earrings—whatever it was, he always had a surprise for me.
Another thing I had started to notice was that ever since I came back to the house, I hadn’t seen Ryan or Ronan. I wasn’t exactly keen to see them, especially after what Ronan had said… but still. They weren’t at the house. I hadn’t seen them once. And I was curious, because, well, they lived here. I knew they lived here. But it had been two weeks, and I hadn’t seen either of them.
In the meantime, I had started picking up gardening. Yeah, I know, it probably shouldn’t have interested me, but I loved flowers. And I just loved playing in the dirt.
I have to confess: growing up, everyone always said how much I looked like my mom. And my mom had this garden in the back of the house. It was hers. She made it. Everyone said the flowers were beautiful. Even now, people still talk about it. They even tried convincing my dad to get a new garden after she passed, but he didn’t want anyone touching her garden. That space became like a shrine—somewhere her hands used to be. Untouched. Sacred.
When I was younger, before I understood the weight of everything, I used to love that place. But over the years, as everyone kept saying how much I looked like her... how much I reminded them of her... things changed.
My brothers... they used to tell me that I was the reason she died. And something about that... it made me avoid the things she used to love or do. I didn’t want to touch the things she was passionate about. I didn’t want to be her. Or worse, feel like I was trying to replace her.
I don’t know how to explain it, but even though I was kind of interested in gardening, I stopped.
I loved playing the piano but when I heard Dad say how much Mom loved it...How he even tried to get me a teacher so I could learn... I told him I wasn’t interested, even though I was.
Because doing the things she loved made me feel like I was stepping into a space that didn’t belong to me. Like I was trying to take her place.
And that wasn’t it. That was never it.
I was in the garden one day when he came and sat there watching me. He just told me to continue with my work, that we wouldn't be talking. And even though I knew that in some part of him, maybe he saw my mom in me… it didn’t hurt the same way anymore.
I removed my gloves slowly, brushing the dirt off my hands, and decided to go and sit next to him. He gave me a look and said,
“Am I disturbing you? I hope I’m not intruding. I just love your work with these flowers… knowing that your mom had once worked through them.”
“Why didn’t you let a gardener keep it going? After mom?” I asked, curious.
“It was her place” he said. Then he sighed. “It was just too painful. I felt like… if somebody else touched the soil she did and tried to make the same thing, it just wouldn’t feel the same. But you're doing it....” he paused, “it just makes me happy. For whatever reason, it feels like you were… You were supposed to continue this garden.”
He looked out across the flowerbeds, then turned back to me. “And I love listening to your music too. I knew you loved the piano, but I never understood why you suddenly stopped.”
I swallowed. Looked up at the sky. The blue was too peaceful, too open. I took a breath and decided to say it.
“I know,” I said.
He looked at me, his brow lifting just slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, smiling, but there was an edge to it now. Hesitation.
“You know what. Ronan told me,” I said softly.
I could see the way his smile faltered but he was still holding on. Clinging to the hope that somehow, maybe, he was still protecting me.
“What… what did he say?” he asked. His voice had lost its warmth now, shaded in caution. The air between us thickened.
“He told me everything.”
I didn’t even realise I was holding my breath until I saw the way my father blinked slowly, like the words had landed exactly where he feared they would. He didn’t speak right away. He just sat there, completely still, his fingers laced together in his lap, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
I didn’t push him. I gave him time. Finally, he nodded once, small, almost imperceptible.
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