Let me take it from here
Frank watched her walk out the door into her red Sonata – dented from the deer she hit last Christmas. For two days, Maila's eyes were swollen, crying over the poor animal. He laughed to himself leaning against the door. How did 17 years go by so fast? About a year after he met Maila's mom, he had a dream about this day. Of his whole world – Maila – driving away.
Maila had been talking about going off to college all summer. Frank held his tongue each time she shared her joy. It's not what a parent says that matters, it's what they choose not to say – one of his old friends used to say. He could give Maila everything she wanted. A great university was right next door. Room, board, allowance. It didn't matter – college in Oregon was her future. A thousand miles away.
At a restaurant the week before, he watched Maila laugh across the table, full of hope for life ahead. Afterward, he sat down near the fireplace, crying harder than he ever had. It took Maila's whole life for him to realize what he wanted to give isn't what Maila needed. She only asked for him – her dad – fun, gentle, and honest.
Maila's car turned the street corner, passing out of sight. One last wave goodbye. "You've done well," Frank heard a voice say. "Let me take it from here." He closed the door. That which you lose you never really had.