“Please forgive us, James. We love you, and we don’t want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your well-being for us anymore. Whether you can attend the wedding or not, what matters is that you heal and know you’re loved.”

I finished reading, the letter shaking in my hands. My father, who had been silently watching, had softened. His rigid posture slackened, and for the first time, I saw vulnerability in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, son,” he said, his voice hushed. “I’ve been wrong.”

My mother stepped closer, wrapping her arms around me carefully, mindful of my injuries. “We’re here for you, James. You don’t have to do anything alone.”