Gustav Blohm. On the verge of death.
The words are in my head, but I don't truly understand their meaning. Not yet.
I tap on the headline to read the entire article. A picture of Father appears, and immediately, my stomach tightens. He looks directly into the camera with an engaging gaze, his chin slightly raised, his bushy eyebrows framing his bright eyes. The first streaks of gray run through his full beard. And although I see no more of him than the rest of the world does, I'm certain he's still the same.
Determined. Successful. Warm-hearted.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat and focus on the text. It's just a brief press release. On his way to the Fashion Week in Milan, Father had a car accident.
There's no image of the accident, so he must be conscious, or at least he was long enough to prevent the press from releasing details.
That's good.
I read on quickly.
Since the fateful accident just two days ago, silence surrounds the fashion icon. Rumors suggest he's hospitalized with severe injuries at the renowned Karolinska University Hospital in Stockholm.
The hush about his health has left die-hard fans breathless with anticipation. Is Gustav Blohm near death?
The text ends with this question.
The colorful world of Montmartre blurs around me, turning into a dark gray.
What if Father is actually on his deathbed?
I need to be with him.
Or do I?
Am I allowed to do that? Would he agree for me to return to Stockholm? Or does his decision even apply to a situation like this?
With pursed lips, I try to organize my thoughts.
"What's the worst that could happen?" I ask myself.
That Father dies without me seeing him one last time. Without us reconciling. Maybe he's still disappointed in me, but does that even matter?
For as long as I can remember, he's been there for me, even picking me up when I was at my lowest. He first gave me health and then this new life in Paris, which I've been living for five years now.
He was smart for me when I was foolish.
Now he's all alone, I'm sure of it. After all, Mother only cares about one person: herself. That was the case even before their divorce, and it's certainly not different now.
Father needs me. I want to be there for him.
So many years have passed, and not a single mistake has been made.
Maybe this is the right moment to reach out. Perhaps he can still find a way to forgive me.
We could get closer, become who we were before that summer. Father and daughter. A unity that nothing can tear apart.
I just need a plane ticket and the information on where exactly to find Father to give this hope a chance.
With trembling fingers, I open the Scandinavian Airlines website and book the next available flight.
Then I search for a phone number that I technically shouldn't have anymore.
