After walking my daughter home, I pretended to leave. I parked on a nearby street and returned ten minutes later.
The front door was open.
The house remained completely silent.
Then I heard my father’s voice coming from upstairs.
—Stand up straight. Exactly like that. You have perfect proportions.
Emily let out a giggle.
—When will Mom be able to see him?
—Not yet. It might scare him. We have to finish it first.
My heart began to beat violently.
I went upstairs and saw that the door, which had been closed, was now ajar. I put my hand on the doorknob and entered the room.
—Stay away from my daughter!
My father turned around startled.
Emily stood in the center of the room, dressed in completely ordinary clothes. Beside her was something large covered by a sheet. Scattered across the floor were pieces of wood, paints, and tools.
“Mom, you shouldn’t have seen this!” Emily exclaimed.
I immediately drew her towards me.
—What’s going on here?
My father had turned pale.
—Claire, I can explain.
—Start by explaining to me why you told my daughter she had a nice figure!
Read the comments to find out what happened next!
He remained silent for several seconds.
Then he approached the object located in the center of the room and removed the white sheet.
I stepped back, confused by what I was seeing.
It was a wooden statue of a girl.
The face was still unfinished, but the clothes, hair, and posture resembled Emily’s.
“They’re opening a new children’s library in town,” my father explained. “They asked me to create a sculpture of a young reader to place at the entrance. Emily wanted to be the model. When I said she had a ‘nice figure,’ I was talking about the proportions of the sculpture. I chose my words very poorly. I should have spoken more carefully.”
For a few moments I felt relief.
But then I remembered everything else.
—Why were you hiding it from me?
Emily looked at her grandfather and my father’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because the sculpture wasn’t the real secret,” he replied. “The secret was something else entirely.”
He opened the bottom drawer of a cabinet and took out several medical documents.
Two months earlier, she had been diagnosed with an early-stage neurological disease. Doctors had warned her that, over time, she might lose dexterity in her hands and begin to experience memory problems.
“Perhaps this is my last sculpture,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely sure. You have enough to worry about.”
At that moment I understood why Emily always wanted to stay with him.
“Did you know?” I asked my daughter.
“One day, Grandpa forgot to end a call, and I overheard what the doctor told him. He asked me not to tell you anything. I stayed with him because his hands trembled at night. I brought him water and made sure he took his medication.”
Nothing I had feared was real.
