news to share with me.
And Mom only shares important news in person.
But I wasn’t available for a weeks. In reality, I don’t even feel available now.
All I want to do is lie on the couch and read romantic novels for the whole weekend.
“Tomorrow by seven, I’ll be home.”
“I can’t wait to see my baby,” she said, still smiling.
“I can’t wait to see you too, Mom.”
Chapter Two
Friday night passed like it was a second, and my Saturday morning was spent in bed reading book after book. I love a good romance. It takes me to another place and I could read them all the time if I had the chance.
But I was also excited to have the opportunity to chat with my mother. I got in my car and drove there listening to the radio and even singing louder than the speakers.
I knew that this was a perfect night when I could forget about work, Mark, and all the nasty things that happened to me the past couple of months.
As I was driving to Mom’s house, I felt like life was starting to come together.
But things never stay good in my life for long…
So as I entered Mom’s house happy and in a good mood, and my eyes saw something I thought I never would see—and frankly, I never wanted to.
In there was Thomas, standing by the table, looking at me and smiling as if he just won the lottery.
The moment I saw him, my body froze.
I never expected to see the sperm donor who helped with my conception again. I stopped calling him my father, the day he walked out on us when I was five years old.
Bastard.
I started referring to him as a sperm donor because I couldn’t call him a father, as he never helped raise me.
When I was close to five years old, he just left me and my mother.
The bastard left us without any remorse that he was leaving behind his little girl—a little girl who needed a father to raise and protect her from the mean world.
For him, something seemed more important than raising me.
He had aged so much, but I could still remember his face.
I wondered why my mother let him enter the house when she could clearly remember how much we had to struggle because of him.
That selfish bastard destroyed my mom’s life because she got stuck with me, being so little.
She never married again, raising me as her only purpose of her life.
This wasn’t right—no one should have the right to take happiness from someone else’s life, and then come back after years just like that and say they’re sorry.
This was bull.
I couldn’t help it; all that rage and fury accumulated from work and Mark was released at once.
“Mom, what is this man doing in our house, paid with our own money from our hard labor?” I said pointing at him, half yelling.
“Come on, Clara. Please calm down. Your father just came here to—”
“My father? I don’t know who my father is, because I was raised only by my mother. Besides her, all are strangers to me, so please don’t call this man my father! He is not, and will never be, no matter who he pretends to be!” I said while standing close to the door, ready to open it the moment he decided to leave the house.
“Clara, please just let me…”
“Sir, please, you will talk to me only if I ask you to. And I’m afraid that won’t happen soon… probably close to never!”
My mother stepped in, gently held my arm and took me to the kitchen.
She poured two glasses of wine and we stayed there for a couple of moments.
“Please, baby, just hear what he has to say. Just this one time. And then he’ll leave and won’t bother you ever again.”
“But Mom, how can I pretend that nothing happened?”
“C’mon, let’s act like adults,” she said.
I trusted her with my life, so we headed back to the living room to sit and see what Thomas had to say in his defense.
Chapter Three
My father.
It is a term that I
And Mom only shares important news in person.
But I wasn’t available for a weeks. In reality, I don’t even feel available now.
All I want to do is lie on the couch and read romantic novels for the whole weekend.
“Tomorrow by seven, I’ll be home.”
“I can’t wait to see my baby,” she said, still smiling.
“I can’t wait to see you too, Mom.”
Chapter Two
Friday night passed like it was a second, and my Saturday morning was spent in bed reading book after book. I love a good romance. It takes me to another place and I could read them all the time if I had the chance.
But I was also excited to have the opportunity to chat with my mother. I got in my car and drove there listening to the radio and even singing louder than the speakers.
I knew that this was a perfect night when I could forget about work, Mark, and all the nasty things that happened to me the past couple of months.
As I was driving to Mom’s house, I felt like life was starting to come together.
But things never stay good in my life for long…
So as I entered Mom’s house happy and in a good mood, and my eyes saw something I thought I never would see—and frankly, I never wanted to.
In there was Thomas, standing by the table, looking at me and smiling as if he just won the lottery.
The moment I saw him, my body froze.
I never expected to see the sperm donor who helped with my conception again. I stopped calling him my father, the day he walked out on us when I was five years old.
Bastard.
I started referring to him as a sperm donor because I couldn’t call him a father, as he never helped raise me.
When I was close to five years old, he just left me and my mother.
The bastard left us without any remorse that he was leaving behind his little girl—a little girl who needed a father to raise and protect her from the mean world.
For him, something seemed more important than raising me.
He had aged so much, but I could still remember his face.
I wondered why my mother let him enter the house when she could clearly remember how much we had to struggle because of him.
That selfish bastard destroyed my mom’s life because she got stuck with me, being so little.
She never married again, raising me as her only purpose of her life.
This wasn’t right—no one should have the right to take happiness from someone else’s life, and then come back after years just like that and say they’re sorry.
This was bull.
I couldn’t help it; all that rage and fury accumulated from work and Mark was released at once.
“Mom, what is this man doing in our house, paid with our own money from our hard labor?” I said pointing at him, half yelling.
“Come on, Clara. Please calm down. Your father just came here to—”
“My father? I don’t know who my father is, because I was raised only by my mother. Besides her, all are strangers to me, so please don’t call this man my father! He is not, and will never be, no matter who he pretends to be!” I said while standing close to the door, ready to open it the moment he decided to leave the house.
“Clara, please just let me…”
“Sir, please, you will talk to me only if I ask you to. And I’m afraid that won’t happen soon… probably close to never!”
My mother stepped in, gently held my arm and took me to the kitchen.
She poured two glasses of wine and we stayed there for a couple of moments.
“Please, baby, just hear what he has to say. Just this one time. And then he’ll leave and won’t bother you ever again.”
“But Mom, how can I pretend that nothing happened?”
“C’mon, let’s act like adults,” she said.
I trusted her with my life, so we headed back to the living room to sit and see what Thomas had to say in his defense.
Chapter Three
My father.
It is a term that I
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