Chapter 40
Ajori
As I stood against the wall, arms loosely folded, I glanced around at the sea of faces, watching people move around like we hadn’t just buried a man who felt too big to die.
My father passed away a month after that conversation I had with him in the hospital, a bit longer than any of us expected him to. Despite his declining health, he had made his wishes clear; he wanted to be home when that final moment arrived, and that’s precisely where he was when he took his last breath.
His funeral was bittersweet, but painful in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I never thought I’d miss, more so, cry over someone I had only known for the short period of time that I had.
Connection, I realized, isn’t measured by how long someone’s been around; it's about the depth and intensity of the relationships you form in the brief moments you share.
In the time I spent with my father, he offered presence and a version of fatherhood that I had long convinced myself I could live without. But truthfully, it only takes a moment of real love to expose a lifetime of what we were missing.
“Ajori, can we talk?” Vanessa’s voice broke through the noise, gentle and tentative.
For a brief moment, I hesitated. I was ready to sayno.
Healing doesn’t move just because somebody finally decides to show up, and forgiveness doesn’t come just because someone is ready to apologize.
But then... I heard Kyrin’s voice echoing in my mind.
“Just talk to her, Jo. You don’t have to forgive her today; just don’t shut the door.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply before exhaling as I turned to face mymother.“Yeah. We can talk.”
Relief washed over her face so quickly that it almost pained me to witness it.
She nodded, gesturing toward a quieter corner of the venue. In the hush of the corner, we were finally free from prying eyes.
Vanessa clasped her hands together, fidgeting as if unsure what to say.
“I know I’ve said it before,” she began, her voice shaky, “but I’m sorry.”
I opted for silence, allowing her the space to sit in her discomfort.
Sometimes silence makes people say what they really mean.
“I should’ve been better,” she continued, her tone heavy with regret. “Not perfect… but present.” Her voice cracked, revealing the raw emotion beneath her controlled exterior. “I wasn’t any of those things when you… or Kyrin needed me most.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, carving a path down her face as it caught the light.
“And it pains me that I can’t go back and fix that version of me.”
My heart clenched at her words, and I hesitated before posing the question that had weighed on me for years.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my father?” I asked, my chest tightening with the release of pent-up emotions.
Her eyes widened slightly, blinking as if my question had momentarily disarmed her.
“I grew up believing he didn’t want me,” I continued, my voice soft but firm. “That he simply vanished… like I wasn't worthy of staying for. He said he sent money. Did he?”
She nodded slowly; remorse etched deeply into her features.
“Yes… but it stopped. And when it did, I let my own feelings cloud my judgment. I was angry and hurt, believing he disappeared out of spitefulness. I carried that belief for years, until recently, when he revealed the truth... the same truth he shared with you. I made a decision for you based on my own pain. When you became old enough to inquire about your father, I didn’t allow you the room to form your own perspective. I told you he didn’t want you and allowed you to believe something that wasn’t entirely true… and you carried that foryears.”
Her voice broke slightly.
