My 74-year-old father invited me to dinner and offered me a drink. I accepted, but the next morning I woke up feeling terribly ill and went to the hospital. When the doctor saw my blood test results, his expression suddenly changed. He asked, “Have you suspected lately that you might be pregnant?”

—And I should have asked you instead of imagining the worst.

During the following weeks we went to our medical appointments together.

Finally, my father's evaluation showed age-related changes in memory levels, with no evidence at that time of progressive dementia. His doctors recommended regular checkups and healthy habits.

My own health improved with the treatment and medical follow-up.

And something else changed.

My father and I stopped treating our love as if it were a secret.

Every Sunday we prepared dinner together.

Sometimes we talked about Mom.

Sometimes we would laugh remembering my childhood.

And other times we would simply sit in silence, enjoying each other's company.

Last Sunday, my father placed two glasses on the table again.

I smiled.

—Another special occasion, Dad?

He shook his head.

—No, darling. Just another ordinary day that I'm grateful to be able to spend with you.

We raised our glasses.

"For our health," he said.

—And for many more dinners together —I replied.