The man whose letters she's been reading and rereading for weeks.
The man who said he was proud of her.
"Vanna." His voice is rough, thick with emotion. "You came."
"I came."
He pulls out the chair across from her and sits.
For a long moment, they just look at each other.
Father and daughter, separated by a table and years, and a lifetime of pain.
The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything that's been said and everything that hasn't.
I stay quiet.
This isn't my moment.
I'm just here to support, to catch her if she falls, to make sure she knows she's not alone.
"You look good," Rick says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Healthy. Really healthy. The letters, you said you were pregnant..."
"I am." She puts her free hand on her stomach, her fingers splaying across the small curve. "About fourteen weeks now."
His eyes shine with tears he's trying not to shed. "I'm going to be a grandfather."
"Yeah. You are."
"That's..." He shakes his head, at a loss for words. "That's amazing. I never thought I'd—" He stops, swallows hard. "I never thought I'd get to know. I figured you'd have kidssomeday, but I never imagined you'd tell me about it. That you'd want me to know."
"Neither did I," Vanna admits. "For a long time, I didn't. I wanted you to rot in here without ever knowing anything about my life. I wanted you to suffer the way I suffered."
"I deserve that."
"Maybe. Probably." She takes a breath. "But I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of carrying around all this hate. It's too heavy. And I've got other things to carry now."
She glances down at her stomach, and Rick's eyes follow.
When he looks back up, there are tears streaming down his face.
He doesn't bother to wipe them away.
"I'm sorry." His voice is barely audible. "I know I've said it in the letters, but I need to say it to your face. I'm sorry for everything. For your mother. For the drugs. For leaving you alone when you needed me most. For being the reason you ended up in this life."
"You didn't leave. You got arrested."
"Same thing." He looks up, meeting her eyes. "I should have been stronger. Should have been a real father to you instead of a junkie and a dealer who cared more about the next score than his own kid. If I'd been different—if I'd gotten clean, if I'd been the man you deserved—maybe you wouldn't have ended up the same way."
"Don't." Vanna cuts him off, her voice sharper than I expected. "Don't do that. Don't take responsibility for my choices. I made my own decisions. You didn't put the needle in my arm."
"But I showed you where to find it, and I showed your mother too."
She's quiet for a moment.
The weight of that truth settles over the table like a blanket.
"Yeah," she says finally. "You did."
