Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“I agree,” he says numbly after I’m done.
That blows me away. He agrees? Just like that? Was it because of what happened with the card game, the marriage, me coming out here, and him thinking it was all his fault?
“Dad?”
Yeah, that’s exactly what he thinks because he goes on to say, “You sacrificed yourself for the company once. You gave up your freedom and your future. Not just with this marriage but long before that. I kept you with me and made the company your life. I was selfish, and I told myself it was for the best, always for the best, but what best? My best? This thing has consumed my life, just like my grief consumed me, and I made you live like that. I was careless in my anger, and I’ve been careless for years. I made mistakes, and you paid for them. If you can leave now, through your choices, so we can do this to save the company and continue the work we do, then it’s a great thing. I will accept it without any conditions and think of it as a blessing I don’t deserve.”
Dad winces, and now I’m on high alert. It looks like something is seriously wrong. Like, life-ending kind of wrong. I know this marriage was a terrible thing in his mind. I know he blames himself, and he’s upset, but this is more than that. It feels like a punch in the gut when I see the regret in his eyes. He’s anything but joy and happiness, anything but the tough and strong—we can get through anything, forever and always—dad I grew up with. Instead, he just looks like a defeated man, an old man, a man for whom the world is anything but the beautiful place he always tried to make better through his work.
It rocks me back on my heels. “Dad?”
“It was me,” he whispers. He can’t look at me. The floor is hardwood in here with a green shag rug, and the long tendrils look like grass between my toes. My body is in instant tension.
“What was you?”
“Your mom. When she left, I was shattered, but I told her she couldn’t be in and out of your life. I thought it was best for you. You were just a kid. You needed a stable environment. I told her that if she was leaving, she couldn’t drag you across the country to spend a weekend here or there with her. She couldn’t just pop back in because she wasn’t welcome. She couldn’t confuse you like that. She was gone. She was choosing not to be a mother or a wife. She was leaving us both behind, and she didn’t deserve to be there for you on her terms. She quit on us, and that was…that was that. At least, I thought so at the time. But I’ve realized for years that I’ve been wrong.”
“Dad!” I can’t handle this. I can’t handle this kind of confession. Especially because for years, I suspected that’s why my mom hadn’t contacted me. It was just so strange. She loved me. I knew she did. She might have been leaving, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to be in my life or know me any longer. “I…why would you do that?”
I know why. Because when one person gets their heart shattered, it hurts. It makes them become like a wrecked animal beyond rational thought. Sometimes the only way to survive something like that is to harden yourself so fully that you become a changed person. It wasn’t all for my benefit. I can see that. His expression says it all. Some of it was revenge and anger, some was bitterness, and yes, a whole lot was to protect me.
There isn’t one answer as to why. It’s a stupid question—a question that’s as old as time, people railing against the unfairness of life and the injustice in the world.
“How long did she try?”
Dad didn’t tell me any of this before, but he’s not going to lie to me now. He wants it all out there. Has this been eating away at him all this time? It obviously has. He looks like a beaten man, like the way people look when they have nothing left, right before they realize they’re going to lose the things they tried so desperately to hold on to.
“She’s still trying,” he mutters weakly.
“No!” Instant tears fill my eyes, and my body feels like it’s boiling. The room feels like it’s going to start melting away, the palm fronds bubbling and sliding down to the floor. “No. I’ve been an adult for years now.” At the same time, so has my mom. Yes, Dad tried to cut her off. He might not have let her call, and he might not have given me her letters, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have shown up. We didn’t move. He didn’t go into hiding. We’ve been in the same place all along. Feeling unwelcome isn’t enough to—