Before I could answer, I saw him across the street.
My father.
Two young boys walked beside him, laughing, wearing matching jerseys. He helped them into a car, rubbing their backs the way he used to rub mine.
The sight gutted me.
I had already lost my mother. And now I understood I had lost my father too.
Without thinking, I walked to my car and started the engine, hands shaking. I needed answers, even if they broke me.
One thing was certain.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter 7
I followed his car at a sensible speed for nearly fifteen minutes until we turned into a quiet, well-kept neighborhood. The streets were peaceful, almost unnervingly so, lined with towering wild trees whose branches stretched over the road like a protective canopy. Everything there felt calm and stable, nothing like the chaos boiling inside my chest.
My father slowed down and steered into a narrow driveway that curved gently toward a white modern style house. It was pristine, elegant, and filled with light. I hated myself for noticing how beautiful it was. It looked nothing like our old house, slightly worn and outdated, filled with history and ghosts that never quite left the walls.
I eased my car forward and stopped directly behind his. When he stepped out, he noticed another vehicle pulling in. At first, I could not tell if he recognized me. I shut off the engine and sat there, my heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might shatter the windshield between us.
He stared through the glass and then it hit him.
Recognition flooded his face. I saw it instantly, the stiffening of his posture, the faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. He reacted quickly, almost too quickly, opening the back door and ushering the boys out. They glanced at me, curious, clearly asking questions. He bent down, whispered something urgent, and sent them running toward the front door.
Of course.
He was not ready to introduce me to his stepchildren.
With a deep breath, I forced myself out of the car. We stood only a few feet apart, yet neither of us moved. Time seemed to freeze, trapping us in the wreckage of everything we had left unfinished.
I took a step closer. He did not look happy to see me. If anything, he looked unsettled and restless. His eyes flicked toward the house, checking the front door, probably making sure his new wife would not witness this reunion.
How predictable.
I must have been the nightmare he never expected to resurface, standing in his front yard, threatening the life he had so carefully rebuilt. I had imagined this moment countless times, rehearsed every insult, every curse. But now, faced with proof that he had already moved on, I realized none of my words carried enough weight to matter.
“Hello, Dad,” I said, my voice nearly choking on the title.
He met my gaze, and for the first time, I saw sadness in his eyes.
“Bailey,” he said hoarsely. “I had no idea you were back in town.”
His eyes lingered on me, studying the changes time had carved into my face. I knew he saw it. I was no longer the naive girl he had left behind. I was twenty-eight now. A single mother. Stronger. Surviving. Despite everything, I had built a life for myself.
“Didn’t you miss your only daughter?” I asked, the bitterness impossible to hide.
“I am just surprised,” he admitted. “It has been a long time.”
It took all my restraint not to laugh. I could still count on one hand how many times he had reached out in the past eight years. The last time I saw him was at my mother’s funeral six years ago.
Up close, the years had not been kind to him either. His once thick black hair was streaked with gray. His body was heavier now, his stomach protruding where he once worked so hard to stay fit. He did not care anymore. Why would he? He had already secured his replacement family.
“Why?” I sneered. “Afraid your new wife might find out I exist?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly. “I would never hide you. I always hoped you would come back, that one day we could be a family again.”
