A Call from His Father

Marek was thirty-six years old and had long lived as if he had everything under control. His corporate job, his mortgage, weekends with his laptop on his lap. He spoke to his father rarely—mostly on holidays. There was no conflict between them, rather a quiet indifference that had grown over the years.

One Tuesday evening, the phone rang. His father. Marek stared at the screen for a moment, wondering whether to answer. He answered.

"Son, I had to call... the doctor found something."

Those few words were enough to bring everything to a halt. Marek went to his family home for the first time in three years. His father was smaller, as if shrunken. They sat at the same table as always, but the conversations were different—calmer, more genuine.

For the next few weeks, Marek went to the hospital, helped with paperwork, cooked dinner. Suddenly, he discovered that his father was also afraid, also regretting his silence. The illness hadn't brought them closer in a spectacular way—it had simply taught them to talk.

His father survived. Marek returned to his job, but not the same one. They called each other every Sunday. No big words. That was enough.