All I wanted was a peaceful morning by the lake. I brought a sandwich, the folding chair that has one leg missing but still functions somewhat if you sit properly, and my old tackle box. I heard someone say, “You’re not going to catch anything with that bait,” maybe ten minutes into my casting.

When I turned around, I saw a child, perhaps ten or nine years old, standing like he owned the dock while sporting large glasses and a Dragon Ball shirt.

I chuckled and inquired as to whether he was an expert in fishing. “My grandpa used to bring me here every weekend,” he said with a shrug. I am aware of the fish’s hiding place.

Nor was he mistaken. “Try over there,” he said, pointing to a small patch close to the reeds, and within five minutes, I did indeed get a bite.

He made no request to fish. He simply sat beside me, talking and swinging his legs. told me that his mother dropped him off at his grandmother’s house nearby while working double shifts. claimed that he spent most weekends wandering around here because no one paid much attention to whether he did or did not.

I’m not sure why, but something about him caused me to put down my fishing pole and pay attention. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, as if he were an elderly person trapped in a child’s body. For some reason, this little guy was different, perhaps because I was accustomed to solitude and quiet.

“So, when you’re not fishing, what do you do?” In an attempt to start a conversation, I asked.

His hands were in his pockets as he shrugged. “I read a lot. My grandmother has many old books. I enjoy stories, but she says I should try reading less. I don’t feel so… alone because of them.

My stomach clenched at the way he said it. Something about it felt heavy, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. I looked at him, observing the way his fingers drummed against his knee and his glasses slid down his nose. It appeared that he was carrying more than just his backpack.

“By yourself?” Uncertain whether to ask further, I asked. However, my curiosity overcame me.

He gave a nod. Indeed. My dad doesn’t actually live with us, and my mom is constantly working. I have no idea what he looks like, and he left before I was even born. My mother doesn’t seem to talk to him, or at least she doesn’t discuss him with me.

I was at a loss for words. What do you say to a child who tells you that his mother is too busy to notice him when he wanders off to a lake by himself and that his father is a stranger? It sounded like something you would hear in a movie rather than in real life. But here it was, unpolished and raw, right in front of me.

I didn’t want to provide meaningless consolation. For a while, I just sat there and allowed the silence to grow between us. I could tell it was more difficult for him than he gave the impression, but he appeared fine, as if he didn’t need sympathy.

“Have you ever looked for your father?” After some time, I inquired. I had to ask, even though it was an odd question. I could tell he had given it some thought.

As if the idea itself were a burden he didn’t want to bear, he slowly shook his head. “My mother didn’t want me to, but I tried once. She claims that it’s best to avoid him because he is a bad person. But I’m always thinking, perhaps he’s not so horrible. Perhaps he’s simply lost or something.

I felt a weird bond with him as I watched him. He wasn’t pleading for pity. He wasn’t even seeking counsel. He was merely speaking, expressing his reality in an open and sincere manner. And I was struck by that more than anything else.

As the sun rose higher and higher throughout the day, the trees’ shadows started to spread out over the water. The child and I discussed a wide range of topics, including our favorite foods, cartoons, and fishing locations. I found out that his name was Max and that he loved reading adventure books more than anything else. He also stated that he hoped to become a scientist someday.

And then something happened in the late afternoon. Max’s eyes darted to the road behind me as I was ready to pack up my belongings. I followed his eyes as he froze for a moment, wondering what had captured his interest.

A shabby car rolled toward the lake along the dirt path. It was just a rusty old sedan, nothing special, but Max’s face dropped when the car came to a stop, as if the entire world had suddenly weighed down on him.

With her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a weary expression on her face, a woman emerged from the vehicle. The world seemed to stop for a moment as she looked at Max.

She called out, “Max,” in a tired but warm voice.

Max got up and approached her slowly. As he got closer, I saw how his shoulders hunched a little. He didn’t rush to meet her, and his steps lacked excitement. Simply put, resignation.

His voice was quiet, almost too soft for his age, as he said, “Hey, Mom.”

Though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, the woman’s smile was there. “Kiddo, how was your day?”

“Good,” he said, but it was a meaningless word. It was not in keeping with the melancholy that pervaded his voice.

The change in the air was palpable to me. The lightness between us vanished as soon as she arrived. Max was more than just the youngster I had been fishing with; he was a man who was much heavier than he appeared.

Unsure if I should speak, I got up to go, slowly packing my belongings. However, I heard Max’s voice once more as I reached for my bag.

He stood with his mother by the car and said, “Thanks for staying,” with his back to me. “I mean it.”

I didn’t believe I could say anything without sounding stupid, so I just nodded. I replied, “Anytime, Max.” “You are careful.”

I turned to go and walked slowly away, feeling as though I had just left something significant that I didn’t fully comprehend.

However, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks just as I was ready to continue down the path.

“Hi, Max?” It was a man’s deep, raspy voice, not his mother’s.

Max’s face was unreadable as he turned to face the car. I could tell what this meant without seeing his face. My heart fell.

The man exited the vehicle. His tall stature and slightly crooked posture softened as he turned to face Max. His father was the one.

Max’s eyes were wide with disbelief rather than excitement. His voice was hardly audible above a whisper as he asked, “Dad?”

The man appeared unsure of what to say as he nodded slowly.

His voice was full of emotion as he said, “I returned.” “I acknowledge that a lot of time has passed and that I have made mistakes. However, I was hoping to see you. I desired to give it a shot.

Max froze in place. He didn’t rush in his direction. He didn’t give him a hug. He simply stood there, admiring this man who had been a stranger to him for so long.

Max paused for a long moment before continuing.

He muttered, “I’m not sure if I can forgive you, but maybe we can try.”

I felt a strange weight leave my chest as I watched from a distance. It can take years for things to mend after breaking. They break occasionally and never fully recover. However, I became aware of something crucial at that precise moment: Max had to make a decision. He had the ability to decide how this phase of his life would unfold, but he was not required to forgive his father immediately. And that exceeded my expectations for the entire day.

That day, I had a lot on my mind when I left the lake. Max had only just started his journey, and I had no idea where it would lead him. However, his handling of that situation and his advocacy for himself, despite the pain, made me realize that each of us has the ability to determine our own destiny.

Healing can take time at times. We occasionally need to reconcile with the things that have caused us pain. However, we are ultimately in charge of determining how to proceed.

If you ever find yourself in a challenging situation, keep in mind that you are the author of your story and can decide how it ends.

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