I first noticed when I visited him one Saturday afternoon.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with his phone in both hands.
His reading glasses rested low on his nose, and he was smiling at the screen.
My father had not smiled like that in years.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
He quickly locked the phone.
“Nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He lasted less than ten seconds before confessing.
“I made a profile.”
“A dating profile?”
He nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed.
I hugged him before he could explain himself.
He stood stiffly at first, then wrapped his arms around me.
“I think Mom would approve,” I told him.
“I hope so,” he murmured.
Soon, he started meeting wonderful women.
He told me about them before every date.
One worked at a library.
Another owned a small bakery.
A third volunteered at an animal shelter on weekends.
He seemed hopeful each time.
But none of them ever stayed.
At first, I assumed they simply were not compatible.
Dating was complicated.
People could enjoy one evening together and still decide there was no future.
I told myself that every time one of the women stopped responding.
Then I noticed something strange.
