“But this is my home. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Dad,” Michael interjected, “Grandpa’s right. There’s fresh air, a garden. It would be good for your heart. And for us… it’s better for us to all be together.”
Peter looked at their faces and realized they wouldn’t back down. The idea of moving scared him, breaking his established routines. But the thought of living in a big house with his son, his brother, and their grandfather was… tempting.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Before leaving for Germany, they all went to the cemetery together. Anna Coleman’s grave was well-tended. On the granite headstone was a photograph of a young, smiling girl. They stood in silence. Each lost in his own thoughts. George, about his daughter, gone too soon. Daniel, about the mother he never knew. Michael, about the woman who gave him life but whose face he had only seen in a photo. And Peter—he asked for her forgiveness.
“Thank you, Anna,” he whispered when he and George were left alone at the grave. “For my boys.”
“They’re your boys too, Peter,” the old man replied quietly. “You raised them. You are their father.”
The surgery in Germany was a success. Professor Schneider, a giant in the world of cardiac surgery, had done the impossible. Michael spent several weeks in the clinic, and Peter was by his side the entire time. He never left his son’s bedside, monitoring his every breath, every reading on the monitors. As Michael began to recover, they talked a lot.
“Dad,” he said one day, “when we get back, I want to apply to the Art Institute.”
“That’s wonderful, son,” Peter said, delighted.
“And I want you to find something to do, too,” Michael continued. “You can’t just sit around in retirement. You’re a brilliant doctor.”
“My time has passed, Michael.”
“No,” his son countered. “You can consult, teach. You can save so many more lives. Don’t bury your talent.”
That conversation made Peter think. He did miss his work, that feeling of being needed, of someone’s life depending on his knowledge and experience.
They returned home in early summer. Daniel and George met them at the airport. Michael, though thinner, had a healthy color in his cheeks and walked on his own. When the brothers embraced, Peter and George exchanged a look, and there were tears in their eyes.
They drove not to the city house, but to the countryside, to the Colemans’ large, spacious home. When Peter walked in, he didn’t feel like a guest, but like he was home. Rooms had already been prepared for him and Michael.
Life began to fall into place. Michael prepared for his art school applications. Daniel returned to his studies and sports. George happily doted on his grandsons. And Peter, after much thought, accepted an offer from an old friend, the dean of the medical university, and began lecturing to students. He turned out to be a brilliant teacher. His experience, his knowledge, and his passionate love for his profession captivated his audience. Students flocked to his lectures. He felt needed again.
One warm August evening, the whole family gathered on the porch of the country house. They drank iced tea and ate apple pie made by the housekeeper.
“Remember when we first met?” Daniel said suddenly. “I was ready to kill you back then,” he nodded at Peter.
“And I was afraid of you,” Michael smiled. “I thought you’d come to take my dad away from me.”
“And I,” George sighed, “was only thinking about revenge.”
“And I,” Peter said, “thought my life was over…”
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