“My father’s name is Walter Harrison,” she explained. “He lost his sight six years ago. He served in the military. He’s stubborn, proud, and lonelier than he admits.”
She looked tired when she added, “My daughter stopped visiting years ago after a family disagreement. Dad still asks about her.”
I understood the request, even if it made my stomach twist.
“What do I need to do?” I asked.
“Visit him every Sunday. Talk to him. Eat lunch with him. Let him feel like someone still comes for him.”
“And pretend to be his granddaughter?”
Linda lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
I accepted.
The first Sunday, I was terrified.
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