If I had any doubts about the way I had raised my children, one of my now adult children reminded me this year that I must have done something right somewhere. She's always been a talented creative writer, so this year she wrote me this lovely, moving Father's Day short story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
by Kaitlyn Medley
Every year on father’s day Billy and Rebecca would wake up their father and surprise him with breakfast in bed; scrambled eggs, bacon, and a toasted English muffin with butter on top. This year was no different. Both Billy and Becca woke up and tip-toed to the kitchen to start breakfast. As they passed their mom and dad’s room, they heard heavy breathing and then what sounded like something fall to the floor. They quickened their steps and hoped they hadn’t woken anyone up yet. Billy always made the scrambled eggs and English muffin while Becca expertly fried the bacon. Once it was all done, they put it on a tray and silently walked down the hall. Billy opened the door to their parent’s room while Becca stood holding the tray of food. Blood was everywhere. It was splattered on the walls, soaked the bed sheets, and a pool of it was forming underneath the lifeless form of their mom on the floor next to the bed. Their father was sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Next to him was a bloody and broken lamp. Their father turned towards the doorway where they were standing and gave them a sinister smile.
“Happy Father’s Day,” he says as he gets out of bed and grabs for the bloody lamp.