“They say time heals all wounds,” the principal, in her navy blue dress said from the stage. Her long red hair and freckled face standing out brightly. Her auburn eyes scanning the crowd. I wondered if when Leila was older, would she look as outstanding as the woman on stage. “And in your years here, you have likely done as much harm as you did good.”

It was a sombre speech that glared in contrast to the happy occasion. But I found it strangely fitting. I looked down to see Joan holding G's hand in her lap. I swallowed my pride and looked back to the speaker.

“In time, all our achievements here will be forgotten. But so will all our errors. You are graduating, not just from this school, but from your past selves.” From the sound of the principal, she was a realist, who knew the hard, rough path ahead in life. “It is a fresh start. A chance given by time itself to be better than who we are now.”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw my shoulder shift. Looking down, Joan had placed her free hand over mine. I turned my palm over and squeezed gently.

“Graduates. This is not your time. This is the time of the world. It is not the world's job to provide a moment for you to shine. It is your job, from now on, to find your place in the world and make it shine.” She finished her opening speech to confused applauses and some looks of confusion. It was without a doubt, a weird speech. Then, in a turn to a tone of excitement, the principal announced, “Now, without further adieu, I present to you, your graduates!”

The crowd immediately turned the haphazard mood into one of celebratory joy, cheering as the graduates waved from their ranks of fives, four groups of them standing at the boundaries of the four pathways that led to the stage. A blonde male in a suit, most likely the vice-principal, stepped onto the stage to replace the previous speaker in the centre. Three other teachers followed. The floor of the stage spiralled open, forming a doughnut shaped hole in the ground around the teachers. From its depth, a round table raised from it, hundreds of scrolls arranged neatly in a circle.

The high-pitched female MC from before took to the stage with paper in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the twentieth graduating classes of Barber Siblings University. Our graduates. Aaron, Smith.”

From the west entrance of where we sat, a male graduate stepped out from the files and walked up to his side of the platform, where the vice-principal presented him with his degree. After a bow, he looked to his left and waved to the crowd, where two set of hands can be seen waving back.

“Abbett, Howard,” the MC announced in succession. Clockwise from Aaron, another male stepped out of his file and proceeded the same way up. This time, he looked left and towards my segment of seats, where his parents waved from the second row.

“Bentley, Lisa.”

Again, in a clockwise direction. The school had positioned each family to their graduates' left. It was efficient, and allowed them to continuously present the degrees without holding up a long line. I turned to the group of graduates directly behind us and scanned the rows for my daughter, Leila.

Probably sensing my anxiety, Joan whispered, “We're Jones. She's probably buried in the middle of everyone.” Gently, she directed me to face back the front. “Patience. Her time will come.”

“Creedie, Patricia. Damon, Hewer. Damon, Jonathan...”

I thought back to the opening speech given by the principal. Time heals all wounds, she had said. The last I had saw of my daughter was, for me, just two days ago. For her, and as far as I knew, she had been angry with me for maybe fifteen long years. She had the rights to be angry. I did, after-all, left her and Joan to fend for themselves, in what I still considered a selfish decision to save my own life.

“Etkins, Louise. Farfort, Franklin. Fetch, Abigail...”

In the past fifteen years, she had only seen me once. And the last time I saw her, she was just a teen, no taller than my chin. And she screamed at me, with enough anger to seer pain even into my nerve-damaged skin.

You were gone! Just like that! You climbed into that stupid machine and you were gone for seven damn years, just like that!

Her words rang within my head like a record on repeat. Not that I have ever seen a record player. But the phrase had kept itself strong through the ages.

“Gilmore, Stacy. Gordon, Trey. Hartnell, Williams...”

I counted the alphabets in my head. J is in two letters. If I turned around now, I would probably be able to see Leila in the queue. My heart started pounding again, harder than before. So much so that I could audibly hear it smashing into my chest. Fear. Pride. Guilt. Excitement. I felt myself drowned by the overwhelming emotions.

“Illias, Zethro. Jameson, Johnson. Jebson, Peter...”

A part of me screamed to run. My mind yelled back , “No!” I needed to face the consequences of my choices. Even if it meant the broken relationship of father and daughter. A outcome I would have to face. And hopefully, fix.

“Jennings, Russell...”

The 'Js' were lasting way too long.

“Joachim, Joseph...”

I wanted to cry. To shout. To show my frustration and regret and guilt and throw it all into the wind which I could not feel.

“Jones, Leila...”

I shot up from my seat, knocking over the chair in the process. I had to have been quite a racket and spectacle as everyone within the garden instantly dove headlong into the town of silence. The only sound was my heavy, erratic breathing. The kind one took when crying heavily. Of course, I had no tears, so as far as I knew, I was a madman playing his part.

From behind me, I heard a hushed, “Dad...”

Two days. For me, that was the number of days since I last heard her call me dad. Yet, it was carried with such a foreign tone that it actually felt like the years it was for her. I turned in my spot and faced my daughter. And she was beautiful.

Her face was bright and without blemishes, like the surface of water on a calm day. Her auburn hair, kept short and still, a sway in the wind, was tucked neatly under her cap. Her gaze steely, her chin sharp, she looked light enough to flutter away on a breeze, even under the oversized gown. Yet, I could feel her strength and determination emanate from her person like the glow of the sun.

Joan and G instinctively moved their seats back to clear a path for me and I stepped out onto the aisle. Whispers started filling the crowd around us. Words like “saviour” and “hero” reached my ears.

You're the judge of mankind. Echoed in my head. Yet none of that mattered to me then.

Leila started walking towards me, as if she was hallucinating and was determining if the sight before her was real. And then she ran, straight into my arms in an embrace that knocked all sense of worry out of me. Crying into my tailored suit, her cap left floating through the air behind her.

“I'm sorry!” she wept. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her as tight as my weakened body would allow. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Dad! I'm so sorry!”

“I love you,” I whispered through tearless sobs. I held her head against my chest. “I love you so much.”

Time heals all wounds. But that's not exactly true, is it? We just become different people. Sometimes it takes four days, and others, fifteen years. Our cuts and grazes fades, and some becomes scars. Then we carry the weight of our injuries through the years and days into an uncertain future as we leave the past behind us.