“I am serious,” he says. “I have spent most of my life prioritizing hockey. I told myself I was doing it for the family. For stability. For legacy. For all the reasons men use when they want to feel noble about neglect.”
No one moves.
He looks at his daughters, and there is something raw in his face now.
“But recently,” he says, voice lower, “I have had to ask myself a question I should have asked much sooner.”
He pauses.
“If all that work leaves me successful and alone… what exactly have I won?”
The question lands in the middle of the table and stays there.
Katia reaches for his hand without hesitation. “I’d say still quite a lot,” she says softly, trying to keep some lightness in her tone. “But yes. Point taken.”
He turns his hand and squeezes hers.
Coach looks at Talia next. Then at both of them together.
“I missed things,” he says. “Important things. I do not intend to miss more.”
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
There’s a man in front of me waking up too late and deciding not to lose what’s left. A man looking at the wreckage of his own priorities and choosing differently.
This family is healing in front of me.
Katia wipes under one eye with her free hand and mutters, “I swear to God, if we all cry in this restaurant, I’m blaming you.”
Talia laughs through tears.
Coach looks vaguely alarmed by the emotional response he created, which almost makes me laugh too.
Almost.
Instead, I glance at Talia.
She’s staring at her father like she’s seeing him clearly for the first time in years.
Then she looks at me.
And I know.
It’s time.
I clear my throat.
Every head turns toward me.
I look at Talia, just to be sure.
The question is silent.
Are we doing this?
She reads it instantly.
Her eyes soften and she nods.
