She shakes her head. “No?—”
“You pretend to love her when you used to hate her.”
“Stop, please.”
“You were the one?—”
“Stop it!”
“I see. You haven’t told her the truth,” he snarls.
Turning his head, he looks straight at me. “It’s time you learn the truth.”
Those words break my bubble, and I quickly stand up, hoping to help Mom but his serrated glare keeps me rooted in my place.
“Alex, please…” Mom whispers.
Dad looks me dead in the eye. “You are nothing but a mistake. An accident.”
“Alex!” Mom calls his name to warn him but he slaps her across the face.
“Shut your damn mouth!”
She whimpers, leaning against the sink and staring at the floor.
He stares at me long. Not a flicker of regret or sorrow crosses his face; nothing tells me he’ll ever second-guess his words.
“When your mother got pregnant in college, it was a drunk mistake. One wasted night that we don’t even remember because we were too intoxicated. No plans or anything,” he explains. “I wanted to get rid of you because we were young and had nothing, but she decided to keep you. She said we’d make it work. So I dropped out and started working jobs to support her, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. And then she suggested that we elope. Did that too, but nothing changed.”
“Alex. Alex. Alex,” Mom keeps mumbling his name.
Dad’s gaze burns. “You understand why I hate you. It’s because you’re a mistake. You weren’t supposed to happen.” He breathes. “A fucking mistake. That’s all you are. A mistake.”
Mistake.
Mistake.
Mistake.
That one word keeps looping over and over in my head.
Mistake.
I wasn’t supposed to happen.
Mistake.
I wasn’t conceived because they wanted me.
Mistake.
I was born because my parents were drunk.
Mistake.
I’m not a choice or a decision. I’m nothing.
Mistake.
