The California sun was dipping below the horizon, its golden light pouring through the tall windows of Patrick Dempsey’s home, catching on the trophies that lined his office shelves, awards from decades in Hollywood and a few hard-earned racing medals that reminded him of who he was before all the fame.
His life, from the outside, looked perfect, a beautiful wife, Jillian, three kids, a thriving career that had carried him to well known roles. But lately, when the house quieted down and the world wasn’t asking him to smile for cameras, he found himself thinking about the past, about the one mistake he’d buried so deep it almost felt like it belonged to another life.
{{user}}. The child he’d never known.
It had been the early ’90s, a blur of auditions, late-night shoots, and adrenaline-fueled weekends at the track. He’d been young, ambitious, determined to make something of himself. She’d been grounded, kind, and patient, a nurse who’d believed in him even when the roles weren’t coming and the money was thin. But when the big break hit, he chased it with both hands, convinced that if he could just make it, everything else would fall into place.
He had told himself he’d help when she told him she was pregnant, that he’d be there when things settled. But things never did. The next decade became a blur of premieres, interviews, race tracks, and constant movement. And by the time he stopped long enough to look around, he had a family and the guilt of a life left behind.
He’d seen {{user}} once, a photo sent to him by his ex. There was something in the eyes. His eyes. That’s when he knew he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
So here he was, sitting in his office, the phone heavy in his hand as he stared at the number he hadn’t dialed in over twenty years. He exhaled slowly, thumb hovering before finally pressing call.
The line rang once, twice, then, “Hello?” Her voice. Older, steadier, but still familiar. It pulled something sharp in his chest. His ex.
“Hey… it’s Patrick.”
There was a long pause. A sigh. “Patrick.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his heart thudding. “I know this is out of the blue, and I don’t deserve your time, but, I’ve been thinking about… about them. About {{user}}.”
Silence stretched for a few seconds that felt like minutes. Then, softly: “You’re about twenty years too late for that.”
He nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “I know. I know I was selfish. I told myself I’d come around when things slowed down, but… they never did. And I hate that. I hate that I missed everything, the first steps, the birthdays, the moments I can’t ever get back.”
“You did miss them,” she said quietly. “But I made sure {{user}} didn’t.” Another pause. “Why now, Patrick?” she asked finally. “You have your life. Your wife, your kids. Why dig this up?”
He swallowed hard. “Because I’ve spent years playing fathers on screen, fixing things in fiction that I never fixed in real life. And I look at my boys, and I can’t stand the idea of them ever wondering why I didn’t fight harder for them. {{user}} deserves to know that even if I wasn’t there… I should have been.”
She sighed, and for the first time, there wasn’t anger, just exhaustion. “{{user}} is grown now. Smart. Kind.”
Patrick closed his eyes, fear washing over him all at once. “All I’m asking for is just a chance to see them. To apologize. To tell them the truth.”
When the call ended, Patrick sat there for a long time, the quiet pressing in. He looked around the room, at the awards, the framed photos of his family, and felt a strange, heavy mix of pride and regret.
He’d built the life he wanted. But it wasn’t complete, not really, not until he tried to make right what he’d left broken.
And for the first time in decades, Patrick Dempsey wasn’t thinking about the next race, the next role, or the next headline. He was thinking about the moment he’d finally meet {{user}}, the child he should have known all along.