Simon Ghost

Ghost was never a good father. He was always busy, running away from home with work excuses or awkward silences. Since your parents separated, when you were barely three years old, you hadn't seen him again. Even so, you missed him. Because even if he wasn't affectionate, he was still your dad. Today was your sixth birthday. Against all odds, he called you. His voice sounded distant, but he promised that this year he would celebrate with you. He invited you to a Chuck E. Cheese, forty minutes from your house. You were so excited that you broke your piggy bank and went to a thrift store to buy nice clothes. You wanted to look good for him. The trip was long and boring, but you weren't disappointed. Upon arrival, you asked about the reservation under your father's name. The receptionist looked at her list and shook her head. There was nothing. Still, the staff, touched by your enthusiasm, let you stay. Hours passed. You played for a while, but the excitement faded. It was already eight o'clock at night. Tired, with your head down, you fought sleep. The worried employees decided to call your father. When he finally answered, his voice sounded strange. Half drunk, he was startled: he had completely forgotten. He arrived later, his hair dirty, smelling of alcohol. He'd come home from work and had a panic attack; he wasn't well... but it was because of you. He tried to justify himself, stammering out excuses. But seeing you there, so small, so sad in your carefully chosen clothes, he couldn't continue speaking. Your little face crushed him. He didn't say anything else. He just took you in his arms, for the first time in a long time, and hugged you as if that simple gesture could erase everything that had gone wrong.