Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
She stops herself and takes a deep breath. “You don’t need the details. It was at his place and I went home afterward, he dropped me off like a gentleman. I told him that I had a husband, and he said okay, we won’t make that mistake twice. In my horror and shame, I quit that job the next morning. But a few weeks later, I learned that I was pregnant, and I told Genaro that he was the father, but we both knew the truth, at least on some level, because we weren’t sleeping in the same bed much those days, but it was easier to say yes, our girl is our girl, and not worry about what might’ve happened. He had his indiscretions, and I guess I had mine, at least just that one time. We didn’t ask questions back then, it was better that way.”
Tears fall and Mom goes all blurry as I try to process. Genaro, Ronan, Cillian. O’Shea. Suddenly, everything Cillian said makes so much sense—
Assuming Genaro isn’t my father.
Assuming Cillian was talking about my actual father instead.
“Genaro was so happy when you were born and you two were so close. He’d sneak into your room every night and give you a kiss, and sometimes he’d climb in and fall asleep next to you. You were his world, you and his work. I still don’t know how he found out for sure, if someone told him or what, but one day around your tenth birthday, he came home and he just… he started packing. I begged him to explain, but he was pale and shaking, trembling really. I’d never seen him like that before. Your father was a tough guy, he did bad things, violent things, but it never bothered him the way he was bothered that day. And just as he was leaving, he stopped in the driveway and looked at me and said, ‘If you’d told me the truth, I would’ve stayed because I love that girl, but I can’t live with a liar my whole life, I just can’t.’ And then he drove off. He left because he isn’t your real father, and I lied to you all about it for so long.”
She buries her face in her hands and she sobs.
I sit back and let it sink in. My body feels numb and tingling like an arm starved of oxygen. I can’t breathe, my head’s all dizzy. I want to process what she just told me but my brain keeps getting stuck like a cassette tape trapped in the gears.
All my life, I hated him. My father, the bastard that left us for no reason, that simply got up and walked out. I asked Mom when I was little why he did it—but she never told me. Only said Dad had his reasons and I shouldn’t worry, it wasn’t my fault, but it was my fault. Wasn’t it? He left because I wasn’t his real daughter.
Or he left because he couldn’t stand being with my mother anymore.
He tried to tell me. Back at the hotel during that meeting, Dad tried to tell me the truth, he came so close to saying it but couldn’t bring himself to do it. I can only imagine the amount of pain he must’ve felt, the utter torture of loving a little girl, of raising a daughter and losing her, but not really losing her, because you can’t just turn that off, can you? My father isn’t my father, but he is, he stayed and he raised me, and even Mom admits he probably knew the whole time on some level at least.
“You should’ve told me,” I say, looking at my hands, not able to look at her right now. She knew the whole time that my father wasn’t my father, but she let me keep on hating him. She could’ve told me and saved me so much anger and anguish, but she kept the secret because it was easier.
She sobs harder. “I’m sorry,” Mom says, “I’m so sorry sweetie.”
I sit there and let her cry. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel the urge to go to her right now. I’m fractured, cracking, breaking in two. One half loves my mother and would do anything to make her happy, the girl that sacrificed so much and gave up her life to try to make her mother more comfortable, and the other is trying to come to grips with the truth that her entire existence is a lie.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” she says, getting herself under some semblance of control. She dabs at her face with tissues and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know you’ll hate me now. You have every right to be angry, sweetie, but I didn’t keep it from you to be selfish. Honey, your father is your father, Genaro raised you and that other man has nothing to do with you at all. You didn’t need to know about him.”