Atlanta, Georgia

Mr. Samuel Campbell

“Amanda, that’s nonsense! Whatever drugs you’re on, get off of them!” I shouted into the phone before I turned it off. Every time she called, it was always some form of trouble. The number of times she was arrested for petty crimes was depressing, as was the number of times she asked for money only to blow it on something stupid. She was my daughter and I loved her, but sometimes I felt like she needed to shape up before I bail her out again.

Anyways, I put up my phone and patiently waited for the doctor to return. It was a routine screening checkup, so I wasn’t too concerned. In all likelihood, I would just be told to watch what I eat and let out.

The doctor came in with a worried look on his face. He held his clipboard in front of him as he quietly closed the door behind him. He took out a chair and took a seat. He sighed as he solemnly said, “Mr. Campbell, you have cancer.”

My heart sank as dread filled my veins. I looked at the ground and asked, “How serious is it?”

He tapped his leg with his pen as he explained, “I’m not going to mince words. You have stage four pancreatic cancer. I’m afraid your case is terminal. I’m sorry, Mr. Campbell. There’s not much we can do.”

I was brought to tears by his statement. All my life, I wanted to ensure the best for my children. I wanted to be there to make sure they got married and I had grandchildren. I wanted my family’s legacy to continue. With Scarlett gone and Arthur not showing interest in women, all my hope was with Amanda, and she was throwing her life away. Our family was going to end with Amanda and Arthur. But I supposed there was nothing I could do. As the old song goes, “Let it be.”

The doctor looked away and said, “Take as much time as you want to come to terms with it. I’ll give you your prognosis when you’re ready.”

“Go ahead, sir. I want to know how much time I have to put my life in order,” I said as I covered my eyes with my hands. I shouldn’t feel sad. Everyone dies eventually. My life was being cut short, but poor Scarlett’s was probably cut when she was ten. My own daughter left this world before I did. On the bright side, I would see her again soon.

The doctor looked at the clipboard and said, “According to my best estimates, you have a year left without treatment. With treatment, I’ll give you a year and a half. We hope for the best. I wish we were able to catch it earlier, but it hid itself well.”

I looked at the doctor and said, “At least I’ll be with my daughter soon. I’ve missed her ever since she disappeared fourteen years ago. Though I do fear I won’t find her. She’ll probably go to heaven, while I don’t know if I was a good enough person to qualify.”

The doctor said, “I don’t believe in the supernatural, but I do believe you’re a good man. You can die in peace, knowing you did the best that you could.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I don’t know. My other daughter ran away and became a troublemaker with frequent run-ins with the law. My son doesn’t care to continue my family business since he wants to be an artist. Scarlett was the one who wanted to run the business, but she’s probably dead since she went missing fourteen years ago,” I said as I felt the weight of the world crushing me.

The doctor wrote down something on a piece of paper and said, “I’m going to refer you to a psychiatrist. It’s not for a mental illness, but to help you bear with pain of what’s happening. I know you had a very traumatic life. Most of which came before your daughter disappeared.”

I took a deep breath as I was about to explain.

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“It all started on a cold February night,” I said as I laid down on the couch in the psychiatrist’s office. She was taking notes. I continued, “I was eight at the time. My father wasn’t a good man. He built an empire out of the small business he inherited. He used subversive tactics to undermine competitors, take over rivals, and earn as much of a profit as possible. He seemed numb to the needs of others, but he was a kind father to my brother and I. One night, he took me, my brother, and my pregnant mother out to watch a play.

“I forgot what the play was about since tragedy quickly struck. We exited the theater and walked back to our car. However, before my father could unlock the door, a man approached us wearing a mask and holding a gun. He screamed at my father for cheating him out of his life savings. He riddled my father with bullets before turning to our terrified mother. Without hesitation, he killed my mother and the unborn child she was carrying. My brother and I tried to run away, but he fired at both of us. My brother died that day and I fell unconscious. I was filled with bullets like the rest of my family, but by a stroke of luck, I survived.

“I woke up in the hospital after several rounds of surgery. The doctors told me I was lucky to survive. When I asked about the rest of my family, they didn’t say anything. That was until an investigator entered my hospital room. He told me that my family went on vacation, which made me break down crying. I wasn’t a stupid child. I knew that it was a euphemism for dead. I saw them shot in front of my eyes. No one could’ve survived that. Though according to the investigator, the ‘bad man’ was gone forever. I learned later that after he murdered my family, he was consumed by guilt and killed himself.

“Ever since that day, my uncle watched over me and tended to the business. But he was away so often that our family butler became more of a parental figure. It was like Alfred to Batman. In fact, my childhood was eerily similar to Batman’s, except that I didn’t become a superhero. Instead, I found solace in faith and my future wife, Cassandra Vaught.

“Cassandra is the love of my life. She has been with me through thick and thin. Whenever I needed comfort, I leaned upon her for support. She was the one to comfort me until we lost our daughter.

“While Scarlett disappeared fourteen years ago and there are no signs that she died, her age and the length of time she was gone implies that she perished. Cassandra was the most devastated by it. We tried to convince ourselves that Scarlett was still alive. My wife adamantly believes so, but now I feel like we’re only lying to ourselves. With my impending death, I feel like we need some closure on this. What should we do?”

The psychiatrist pondered for a while before replying, “Perhaps you should prepare a funeral for your missing daughter first. She disappeared at ten years old and hasn’t reappeared since. It normally takes about seven years for a missing person to be declared dead, so according to the state, she’s already dead. It’ll be painful, but that bandage needs to be pulled off.”

“You’re right,” I replied as I stared at the ceiling. “I just need some time.” After a short pause, I added, “I want more time.”

“We all do. We always waste time until we realize how little we really have.”