For the first time in my life, I’m getting the chance to see my father. We look alike, and that irks me. He has the same freckles dusted over his nose and a bit underneath his eyes. The exact same shade of brown eyes, and even our Cupid’s bows are too similar.
His hair, although it has some greys on the roots, has the shine that mine has. Thick, wavy strands. The more I look at him, the more I’m filled with disgust. It’s one thing that he wanted nothing to do with my mother, but I could never, ever imagine doing the things he’s indirectly done to me to anyone, let alone my own child.
Blood may tie us, but it’s time for those ties to be severed, once and for all.
“Yes, me,” I drawl out, pushing myself off the door and striding toward him until I’m looking down at his tied-up body. “How does it feel to see me in person, Father?”
The mockery I’m using with the title doesn’t go unnoticed by him. His brow twitches; whether it’s in annoyance or disgust, I don’t know, but getting a reaction out of him sure feels satisfying.
“You look exactly like me,” he mutters.
“Unfortunately,” I scoff and pause for a beat. “Then again, I don’t know whether it’s worse that I look like you or if I were to look like Sabrina. All in all, I want to rip this face off me.”
He leans back in the chair, the chains jiggling with his movements. I don’t take my eyes off his face, and right now, I realize how much stronger I am than I thought. When I used to think about meeting my biological father, all I thought about was the pain, the anger, and the hatred I’d feel.
But I don’t feel anything.
Pure fucking indifference.
It’s like I’m staring at dirt underneath my shoes, not a person. I’m no longer angry that he didn’t protect me like a father should, because this man isn’t my father. He’s nothing but a sperm donor, the lowest of the low. He deserves everything I’m about to do to him.
“Don’t say that,” he hums. “I’m proud that both my daughters look like me.”
That whole sentence makes me freeze. I blink once, then twice, trying to comprehend what he just said. I take another step forward, eyes narrowing at him. He seems to be regretting the decision to open his filthy mouth right about now.
“Both?” I repeat. “What do you mean both?”
“Ah,” he chuckles, but the sound comes in anxious, nervous waves. “I have another daughter.”
“What?”
“Her name is Theodosia. She’s fifteen.”
Immediately, my mind starts doing math. “Let me just ask, is she by your wife?”
A look of guilt flashes across his face, to whichI laugh.
Of course it’s not by his wife. The man doesn’t have a single loyal bone in his body. Given what he put me through, I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m not the only affair child he’s ever had.
“You’ve been busy, huh?” I shake my head. “Two kids in one year by two different women. Is that your personal record?”
He doesn’t respond. After all, there’s nothing he could say to make him at least look any better.
“Where is she?” I ask.
Somehow, the way he spoke of her made me afraid for the girl. I’m not too scared for his son, because it’s the child he actually chose. But Theodosia is a girl, too. The mere thought of putting her through what I’ve been through makes me violently ill.
“With her maternal grandparents.”
“Where?” I press further. “Where’s her mother?”
“She died in labor. As for Thea, she’s currently in Greece. She’s been living there, but she does come to the States to visit her maternal family often.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on her.”
He nods. “I keep tabs on all of my kids.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here, Alexander.”
