Keeley was playing a board game with her family when she received a phone call from her father's number.

"Hey Dad, what's up? Do you want me to send you the pictures I took of the kids at prom?" she asked casually.

A sympathetic female voice replied, "This is Robert Hall's daughter, correct?"

Keeley's blood ran cold. She excused herself from the game to find some privacy. Her father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's three years earlier. He could no longer live alone, but his cat allergy prevented him from living with her permanently. She had moved him to a care center, visiting every few days.

"Yes, this is she. What's going on?" Keeley asked, swallowing hard.

"He's not doing well," the woman admitted. "We don't think he'll last the night. He's not lucid, but would you still like to see him?"

Keeley knew this day would come, but he was still relatively young. Seventy-one wasn't old in today's world, with life expectancy steadily increasing thanks to medical advancements.

"Of course," she sniffed, tears welling up. "I'll be right there."

Returning to the living room, Nathan complained about her neglecting her turn at the game, but stopped mid-sentence upon seeing her face. Aaron, noticing Nathan's silence, immediately stood.

"Is he?" he began.

Keeley understood. "Not yet. But they think it'll happen tonight. I need to go."

As she turned to leave, Aaron took her hand. "We'll all go. I'm sure the boys want to say goodbye, and I won't leave you to face this alone."

Keeley nodded, speechless. Aaron quietly explained the situation to Oliver and Nathan as they got ready. The drive to the care facility was somber.

Fifteen years. She'd had an extra fifteen years with her father. He'd died in 2017, a horrible, unnatural death—murder. This time, his death would be peaceful; he'd be reunited with his wife and son. She knew he'd been suffering and deserved rest, but she would miss him terribly.

Robert was the last remaining member of her birth family. After her death, she would be alone. Tears streamed down her face.

She ran from the car, praying she wasn't too late, as Aaron parked. He let the others out first. Frantically, Keeley gave her name and the patient's name at the front desk; they let her through immediately. The urgency was palpable. She practically ran down the hall, ignoring the "no running" rule.

"Dad," she panted, opening his door. He looked terrible—pale and gaunt—but he was still breathing.

"Monica?" he whispered weakly.

"No, Dad, it's Keeley. Your daughter," she said gently, taking his hand. "Your grandsons, Oliver and Nathan, are here too."

They waved awkwardly. Watching their grandfather deteriorate had been hard on them.

"Keeley…I see Monica. She's waiting for me," Robert said weakly, then had a violent coughing fit.

Tears flowed, but she smiled. She wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

"You've both waited a long time," she choked out. "You'll be with her soon, and it won't hurt anymore."

He closed his eyes, a pleased smile on his face. His breathing remained shallow for a few minutes before he opened his eyes again. He seemed to want to say something important.

Keeley gripped his hand tighter. What was it?

"I'm proud of you, honeybun. You were always so kind…and you never gave up your dreams. You have such a beautiful family. Cherish them."

His coughing made it difficult to understand him. He whispered "Monica" once more before the monitors flatlined. He was gone.

She collapsed, resting her forehead on their hands. Gone. The entire Hall family was gone except for her.

Aaron rushed in as Oliver whispered what had happened, tears streaming down his face. He comforted Nathan, who sobbed as hard as his mother.

"Keeley…" Aaron said helplessly, embracing her.

"He's gone, he's gone! He was the only one left and now—!" Her words were choked with grief.

"Shh, it's okay. He's with your mom and Kaleb again, and that's what he wanted. You're not alone. You still have us."

She cried harder, releasing her father's hand as a nurse entered. She buried her face in Aaron's shirt and cried until she was spent.

"Is Mom going to be okay?" Nathan asked Oliver tearfully.

"I…don't know," Oliver replied honestly.

He'd never seen his mother so distraught. He understood, though; she'd lost most of her family long ago. As she said, her father was the last.

Oliver resolved to be extra supportive as she grieved. His father had been right; she wasn't alone. She still had them.

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