The Visit

Everything had to be just right for the perfect daughter’s visit. Desiree had been cleaning for a week straight. The floors gleamed, the windows sparkled, and Terry had already prepped his beloved mancave for the grand tour. Just one more thing on her list—Desiree headed to the shed.

She closed the door behind her, scanning the room. Wastebasket—empty. Mini fridge—stocked. She fluffed the couch pillows, ran her fingers along the edge of the desk—spotless. But then, her eyes landed on a letter. Special stationery, tucked neatly under a heavy envelope addressed: My Dearest Avon “Charay.”

She unfolded the letter, reading the first line. Different… this isn’t the same letter Terry wrote all those years ago.

A sharp beep startled her. 1:00 p.m.—Terry’s calcium pill alarm. Desiree jumped, then shook her head, chuckling softly. She carefully refolded the letter and slid it back beneath the desk pad, her hand lingering on the envelope.

Reading it would only make me cry again. But… one more time wouldn’t hurt.

Wait—was Terry planning to read this to Charay? It made sense. Aww, Terry… she thought, placing a hand over her chest. She’d probably cry all over again when he read it aloud anyway. And in the Bailey household, you didn’t touch Terry’s things without permission. Respect was important.

Through the window, Desiree spotted the familiar rack and pinion on Terry’s truck as he pulled into the driveway. She grabbed his favorite cup and headed outside.

***

Charay readjusted her seat, watching the passengers file down the aisle. Her eyes lingered—studying faces, searching for similarities. The eyes? Maybe. Body frame? Not quite. High cheekbones? Possibly.

She adjusted her seatbelt, cracked the window shade, and peeked over her sunglasses. The sun's warmth kissed her face. It’s perfect, she thought. Everything is perfect.

“Welcome aboard flight 5543,” came the captain's voice. “It’s a beautiful day to travel. Our ETA is 1:10 p.m.”

Eugene closed his laptop. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Her fiancé. Her rock. Eugene was accompanying her to North Carolina to meet her biological parents for the first time.

“Just thinking how grateful I am for this perfect day,” she replied.

“I love that about you.”

“What?”

“You always appreciate the little things. Most people overlook them.”

She smirked. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t distracting myself from the nerves.”

“Babe, that’s normal. You’ve been through a lot this past year.” He patted her thigh gently. “But you’re ready for this.”

“Maybe…”

Eugene hesitated, his gaze softening. “When I lost part of the vision in my left eye, I never told anyone about the depression. Being a Marine, I thought toughness was in my blood. But honestly? If I didn’t love writing, computers, interviews… I might’ve fallen apart. But you? You never gave up.”

“I cried. A lot. Tears when I learned I was adopted. Tears of joy when I finally found my parents.”

“We’ve all cried.” Eugene smiled faintly. “Your parents cried—both sets. Crying doesn’t make you weak. It clears your vision for the next step.”

“Poetry.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, Ray,” he teased, winking.

Eugene wrapped an arm around her. “I’m really looking forward to meeting Terry and Desiree.”

“Why do you sound so serious?”

“I need to thank the union that created the perfect woman for me.”

Charay exhaled, her nerves briefly forgotten. “I love you.”

***

Back at home, Desiree placed the final touches around the kitchen and double-checked the bathrooms. A clean linen candle burned in the foyer, filling the house with fresh, crisp warmth.

The tables were set, Terry's impressive spread laid out: juicy pineapple, strawberries, melon, creamy fruit dip; a vegetable tray with cucumbers, tomatoes, crisp broccoli, carrots, celery with ranch; platters of cheeses and grapes; deviled eggs; seasoned chicken skewers with peppers and onions; bacon-wrapped scallions; hot wings—and to top it off, raspberry sherbet punch.

Fine china, silverware, cloth napkins—the dining room looked festive, inviting.

As she placed an ice bucket next to the lemonade, she noticed a car pulling into the driveway.

The doorbell rang.

“Are you Mrs. Desiree Bailey?” the FedEx driver asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

He handed her an envelope. “Package for you.”

Desiree accepted it, a strange chill creeping over her. She tucked it under her arm and retreated to the bedroom.

***

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window as Terry prepared his pineapple-spinach smoothie. The warmth on his face, the rhythmic hum of CNN in the background—it all felt… good.

Two weeks ago, Desiree told him she was taking September 5th off. Terry had quietly decided to make it a special day.

He sipped his smoothie, admiring the hostas he’d planted along the walkway. They swayed gently in the breeze, perfectly aligned. His mind drifted back—thirty years ago—walking the Aqueduct with Desiree.

He smiled, remembering the little things that made him fall for her: her love for life, her loyalty, their road trips, the way she'd catch him staring, and tease him for it.

Back then, sixteen and eager to impress, Terry had borrowed his brother’s blue Chevy work van. License fresh in hand, he drove to pick Desiree up, calculating the timing so she'd be waiting on the front steps like clockwork.

And she was. Arms folded, beaming.

“I didn’t know you could drive a van,” she'd teased.

“I’ve got my license now. I can drive anything,” he'd bragged.

Years later, Desiree revealed she'd snuck out without permission—her Grandma Kelly oblivious for once. She didn’t care. When she was with Terry, she felt safe.

Even now, the memory made his chest swell with pride. His road dog. His co-pilot. Today, it was her turn to sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

Last week, Terry scouted the perfect spot: The Terrace Café at Ballantyne. He’d mapped out the drive along the scenic outskirts of Charlotte.

Balancing a black lacquer serving tray, he made his way upstairs: coffee prepared the way Desiree liked, a spinach-mushroom omelet, cloth napkin, orange tulip, and a handwritten note: Your Special Date. Hearts on either side of his name.

Terry Bailey can be romantic when he wants to, he thought, grinning.

***

Upstairs, the bed was made, pillows fluffed. But the bathroom door was closed.

Terry pressed his ear against it. Silence, except for the faint rustle of tissues. His stomach sank.

He opened the door gently. Desiree stood with her back to him, dabbing her face with a towel. Red, puffy eyes betrayed her.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She tugged on his belt, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine… just tired.”

Terry wrapped his arm around her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know you better than anyone, Boo. It’s September 5th.”

Desiree sighed. “I was better this time… right?”

“Yeah, Boo. You were.”

She exhaled, trying to smile. “Meditating, motivation, exercise… it helps. I’ve been off meds for a while. I only took Zoloft this week to get through. I’m good.”

Terry cupped her face gently. “It’s okay to feel this way. I hurt too. No shame in that.”

“Terry… you should’ve seen her. Our baby. Marketing executive for Chanel.” Desiree’s voice cracked. “She held herself with such grace… and Eugene… he’s perfect for her.” She placed her hand over her heart. “She turned out so beautiful. And smart.”

Terry smirked. “What else could she be? Look at her father.”

Desiree rolled her eyes. “Guess my genes didn’t show up?”

“Oh, they’re there. Hidden under my dominant good looks.”

She laughed lightly, grateful for the distraction.

Desiree’s eyes softened as she paced. “I’ll always be grateful to Sandra… for raising Avon until the Browns adopted her. She saved my life once… and now, she gave our daughter a future.”

Terry listened quietly, his heart swelling.

“And she didn’t even mind us calling her Avon… the name we picked out.”

Terry touched her shoulder. “Desiree…”

“Just one more thing.”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

“She asked you to walk her down the aisle. Of course, she did. You’re her father.”

A Marine sergeant, trained for battle, yet nothing prepared Terry for this. Avon was his weak spot. Desiree’s tears were his undoing.

He pulled her close, squeezing tightly. “We’ve both hurt for a long time, Boo. But it gets easier. Not perfect. But better.”

Desiree held up a photo. “FedEx delivered this yesterday. Morphed photo of Avon… from our pictures. I had to see what our baby would’ve looked like.”

Terry stared, stunned. His throat tightened.

“Wow…” His voice broke. “She’s… beautiful.”

Desiree nodded, eyes glassy. “She’s the glue that would’ve held us together.”

Terry pulled back slightly, his voice firm. “No, my heart is the glue. Always has been. And I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Desiree collapsed into his embrace, their shared grief and hope blending into something steady, something whole.