David sat at the kitchen table, his homework spread out before him. The evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, dusty glow over the room. He had been doodling in his notebook for the past hour, unable to focus on the math problems in front of him. As he leaned back in the chair, his attention strayed to the fridge. Pictures he had drawn when he was younger were stuck to its doors, mixed in with some holiday cards, letters, and takeout menus.

He smiled at the drawings, longing for the days when his biggest worry was choosing the right color or playing with his robot. The simplicity of those times felt comforting, a stark contrast to the complex algebra that sat in front of him now. He sighed, turning his gaze back to his homework with a sense of resignation.

"How's the homework?" Julia asked from behind David, resting her hand softly on his shoulder.

"I don't get it," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

She leaned closer and spied his notebook. "The doodles look nice, but you need to focus. How about a little snack?"

"Thanks, Mom," David replied as Julia opened the fridge. She was dressed casually today in jeans and a plain shirt, her hair tied up in a loose ponytail. David watched as she cut an apple into pieces. She had been much happier the past couple of years, and it showed in her demeanor. The worry lines and puffy eyes that once marred her face had softened, replaced by calm assurance and humming, a sign to David that everything was going to be okay. She grabbed the jar of peanut butter and added some to the plate.

Ding Dong.

Julia glanced up, curious, as the doorbell rang. "Here you go, my little dreamer," she said, placing the plate next to David on the table and ruffling his hair as she walked past him to answer the door. After a minute, she came back with a box in her hands.

"Here, David, it's addressed to you," she said, putting the box on the table.

David looked at it curiously. Outside of the occasional birthday card, he had never really gotten any mail. It was wrapped plainly, brown paper hiding whatever might be contained inside. He noticed that his name was written with precise and neat penmanship. He looked at the return address but didn't recognize it.

"What's 'KY' stand for?" he asked Julia curiously.

She took a moment to respond, her face devoid of emotion. "It stands for Kentucky. It's from your father."

David's heart skipped a beat. He stared at the box, a flood of old emotions surfacing. Instinctively, he pushed the box away, as if it were a snake ready to strike, his curiosity quickly turning to disgust. He hadn't heard from his father in years. His mind raced, trying to figure out the intentions behind the package. He was certain there was a catch. The silence in the room stretched on, thick and heavy.

Seeing the apprehension on David's face, Julia’s expression softened. She pulled up a chair and sat beside him. "It's okay, David. You don't have to open it right now."

David stared at the package intently, trying to see past the paper with sheer force of will. "Why now?" he whispered, mostly to himself. He stood up and grabbed the package off the table. It was lighter than he thought because of how big it was. He took it over to the trash can and threw it in.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Julia asked, watching him.

"Why not?" David replied, his voice starting to shake. "He chose to leave us, to leave you when we needed him. It's been seven years and he never sent anything, not even a birthday card." Tears started to well up, blurring David's vision. "Now he regrets leaving and wants to make amends? Well too bad, he doesn't get to just come and go whenever he feels like it. Not after he hurt you like that."

Julia stood up and walked over to David, pulling him into a tight embrace. "It's okay," she said softly, her voice steady and reassuring. "You can be angry and feel hurt, but I don't want you to hold on to those feelings. Feel them, then move past them."

David sobbed into his mother's shoulder, his emotions finally breaking through the wall he had built up over the years. "I just don't understand why he left us. Why didn't he care? Were we not good enough?"

Julia stroked his hair gently. "Sometimes people make decisions that we can't understand. It doesn't mean it was the right choice or that he didn't care about us. But holding on to that anger can hurt you even more. Maybe this package is his way of trying to show that he still cares about you, or maybe it's just too little, too late."

David pulled back lightly, looking into his mother's eyes. "What if I can't forgive him? What if I never want to?"

Julia wiped away a tear with her thumb. "That's okay too. You don't owe anyone forgiveness, especially not someone who hurt you so deeply, but you need to forgive yourself. His decision to leave has nothing to do with whether you or I weren't good enough. But maybe understanding his reasons, or at least hearing him out, will give you some closure."

David nodded slowly, the tension in his body easing a bit. He looked back at the trash can for a minute. Turning away, he gathered his homework up. "I'm going to work on this in my room."

Julia watched as David retreated down the hall. She sighed, "What are you thinking? Why now?" she asked into the empty room. The silence was heavy, her question lingering in the air without an answer. She stood up and fished the package out of the trash. She walked through the house with it tucked under her arm. David's door was closed as she passed it. Julia opened her closet and tucked the box on the top shelf, burying it in the back. "It's too early right now, but you may want this in the future," she murmured, ready in case David ever regretted his decision to throw it away.

David sat on his bed staring blankly at the open algebra book in front of him. He was too distracted to do homework, thinking about the package. A stab of anger rose up suddenly, and he shut the book with a quick snap. He fell back into his pillow with an exhausted sigh.

Turning his head, he saw his old robot sitting on the side table, dust-covered and forgotten. The once vibrant blue robot was now faded to a dull gray, rusted in places from years of neglect. One antenna was bent, the other missing entirely. The robot's head was tilted to the side, almost as if it was slightly amused by David's turmoil. "What are you looking at?" David asked it, as if challenging the inanimate object to mock him.

David reached over and picked it up. It stayed in a seated position, its legs stuck in place. The robot had been his favorite toy once. It had seen countless adventures, battles, and explorations through David's imagination. Now, it was just a relic of a past he didn't want to remember but couldn't forget. He turned it over in his hands, thinking about what his mother told him. He didn't know how to forgive himself, let alone his father, but he figured he could start somewhere—by fixing the robot.