Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
My phone rings and I silence the call. It’s the third time in the last two days that someone from the cancer center has reached out. I never listen to the messages or return the calls. I have more important things to do, like love my woman’s curvy body.
She frowns at it. “I hate that man. I hope he goes to hell.”
I chuckle. She’s made no secret of the fact that she thinks my stepdad was a monster.
She blows out her breath. “Still, I’ve been thinking. He doesn’t deserve peace for what he did. I’ll never think that. But you do, so if you have something you need to get off your chest, you should go to him. It might be your last chance to get it out before he’s gone.”
“I’ll think about it.” I’m not sure what I would say to the man who tormented me. I’m not sure that there is anything to say. But I admit to being curious. If he passes, what does that mean for me and my mom? She’s never searched for me as far as I know. But was that because of him? What about my sisters? Do they want to see me?
Three days later, I find myself staring up at the cancer center in Knoxville. It’s a non-descript office building in a good part of town.
I left my warm bed with my sleeping woman to drive here, and I’m not even sure why I did it. Maybe I just need to see if the bastard really is dying.
With a deep breath, I propel myself forward. No point in dragging this out. If I hurry, I’ll be back on the road within an hour or two.
Inside the lobby, I give my name and I’m directed through a set of double doors into the patient area. I find his room number easily enough and knock before entering.
My gaze is drawn to the frail man lying in the hospital bed. This man can’t be my stepdad. He was ten feet tall with a head full of hair and a body like a truck. But the person lying here has wispy gray hair and he’s skeletal, much too tiny to be the monster who tormented me. For a moment, I think I walked into the wrong room.
Then my gaze shifts and I spot my mom in the chair by the side of the bed. Of course, she’s beside him. She never once stood up for me. That didn’t strike me as odd when I was growing up. But now that I’m with Molly and thinking about having babies of our own, I can’t imagine it. I’ll always stand up for my kids.
I know the moment my mom spots me, the way her spine stiffens.
I look like him. It’s something I hate, something I despise about myself. I have his eyes and his nose, the man from her worst nightmares.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, my voice hoarse. He’s sleeping peacefully. How many nights did he sleep peacefully after beating me? Did he really think he was doing right by me, by my mom?
Sarah, my sister, sniffs. It’s only then that I register she’s in the room. She’s been through four husbands now and has at least five kids by my last count. “He’s dying of spinal cancer. He’s in constant pain.”
It’s sick that it gives me a sense of satisfaction to know he’s hurting. Maybe if he even feels an ounce of the pain that I felt then he finally realizes what he did.
“What did he want to see me about?” I move from the doorway into the room, standing by the bed. It’s not lost on me that he’s the vulnerable one now. He’s the one who’s small and has something to fear.
“I’m the one who called,” my mom snaps. It’s the first time she’s spoken to me since I arrived.
I keep my gaze on my stepdad’s sleeping form. I wonder if he can hear my voice. Does mine haunt his nightmares the same way his voice has haunted me?
“He’s being transferred to hospice care later,” she explains.
I still wait, barely breathing. Everything in me is screaming at me to turn around and run. There’s a little boy inside that just wants to close his eyes and pretend this isn’t happening.
She continues, “I want him home with me. He should be by family when he dies.”
I shrug, still not sure where I fit into all of this. “Then take him back home.”
Sarah huffs like I’m being intentionally dense. “He’d need round-the-clock nurses. They’re expensive.”
A wave of cold washes over me, just like it used to when the beatings got bad. I’m no longer here. No longer inside of myself. Instead, I’m outside of my body, watching the scene unfold.
“You could offer to help,” Mom suggests. She knows I’m wealthy now. I keep a low profile but word gets out eventually. “He fed you and clothed you all those years. Kept a roof over your head.”