CARINA POV
Six months of watching our daughter thrive, six months of no drama. It felt too good to be true, and it was. This cold and icy morning was interrupted with a letter placed against our front door, a knock at the door being the only signal to its existence. It was addressed to my wife; it was handwritten but unrecognisable. Scanning over the letter, there were parts which almost looked unintelligible or legible.
"Maya" I'd shouted up, getting the attention from my wife who was otherwise dressing Isabella. She called back down saying that she'd be there in a minute and as if she'd set a timer, she was down just as the time changed on the microwave. She held Isabella in her arms as she walked towards me, confusion growing on her face as she notices the letter.
"It's addressed to you" I say, swapping the letter for my daughter. Maya holds the letter out so both of us can read. The letter:
Dear my Darling Daughter Maya,
This letter had been an idea of mine for years, maybe since you started running professionally. I watched you grow, and I pushed you hard, but you won medals. It created some level of control in my life, I could control you and I was okay with that. I held a certain type of power over you which was good enough, I couldn't control your brother or mother.
I wanted to write this letter to maybe explain myself. It's weird because I'm sure you'd never read this; hell, I don't think I'd ever show you it. I know you know this story. The story of how I had a future in Baseball until I injured myself in college. It's funny because I always told you how my life stopped, how I got distracted and that's what caused the injury. But that's far from the truth, a distraction isn't bad. Your mom was that distraction, I saw a future and a family with her, but your grandfather was against that. Eyes Forward was beaten into me too. I injured myself, I pushed myself until I couldn't play anymore. Until the trophies on the walls would just collect dust.
Punching walls were a scare tactic for the both of us. Throwing a punch was a reminder, the shocking pain up my arm was a reminder of the injury I caused myself. Did you notice how I'd storm off after I'd punch something or throw something, I'd cry. The man who'd beat your brother up for showing an emotion would cry themselves until tears couldn't fall anymore. Your mom knew this, she knew the story of how I became this way. She hated my dad and I'm sure your future partner hates me too.
This letter wasn't written to seek some kind of forgiveness, but I wanted you to understand something. Since I started to force you into running, I could see myself become more like your grandfather and the more I pushed you, the more I hated myself. The hate I had for myself only fuelled how I'd treat you on the track. How I'd push you to an injury, I pushed you to run on an injury knowing it would stop you from running. I wanted so desperately to stop you from running, from never returning to it. For you to no longer be under my control. The day you swore you'd never run again was a relief, it truly was a relief. I'd cried myself to sleep, I probably looked like a wimp. But I was so happy. The next day I missed the control, even on my death bed I hated how I'd lost control of you. Life was simple that way. I'm sorry.
Your father (If I still hold that title in your life),
Lane
The letter confused the two of us, Maya threw the letter down onto our dining room table and pulled Isabella out of my hold. She started to circle the room slowly as she rocked our daughter, Isabella was babbling as she tried to grab Maya's nose. That one moment is such a stark difference to what we'd read in that letter.
"I don't want to talk about it" Maya blurted some words out; her eyes were fixated on Isabella's face as some tears flowed carelessly. I had to respect her boundary, especially as it wasn't a shock.
MAYA POV
What do I do with this information. He got himself out of a sport to escape his controlling dad, so he repeated the process and pushed me to injure myself. He pushed me to get an injury that I still feel the repercussions of. A long time ago, I felt like I'd moved past him, that I didn't care anymore about the past and his existence. It's all changed now. Looking down at Isabella's face, I question how my dad could act that way, how my mom could just abandon us. It doesn't make sense; I don't think I want to make sense of it. For a long time, I was afraid that I would become my father, that my love language would border on abuse. That was the time that I also figured out that as long as I recognised what my dad did, it meant that maybe I knew what right and wrong was.
Isabella had become something that soothed my brain and my thoughts. Big questions about her future were something that I'd discussed with Carina, about her maybe wanting to run in the future or become competitive in anything. An evening full of talking and crying allowed me to figure out that it wasn't so much whether our daughter would be ambitious but rather if I'd take over. But again, I want my little girl to own the biggest skyscrapers, to dance with the stars if it was possible, or work in a lab sifting through shit. Whatever she ends up doing, boy am I going to support her. That night stopped me from panicking about how similar I am to my dad but rather how different I am. I asked Carina for space; she nodded and went upstairs after a few seconds of processing both what I'd said and what had been written in the letter. She'd left Isabella in my arms, simply kissing both of us on the forehead.
"I always wondered what would have happened if your grandfather was alive. Would he have changed his way? Would loving you be enough for him to be loving?" I rhetorically question, Isabella continues to hold my nose with her little finger. Her big eyes look almost as if the green sea glass had been mixed with the bluest sky. As I talked quietly to her, I held the back of her head and felt the full head of raven hair she'd been born with.
"You're right. I probably would have kept you away, like I will with your grandmother. I don't know what to do with her, is it bad that I want her in my life despite what she says?" I continue talking to Isabella, only getting small whinges and a few blinks of her eyes.
"I hope you never grow scared of me. I will try my hardest every damn day to make sure you're safe in my arms, and safe in your mama's arms. Your mama was the first arms I ever felt safe in" I whisper, Isabella's eyes start to close as she settles in my arms. With a smile gracing my lips, I feel myself slowly forget the words from the letter which had infiltrated my brain. There's a sense of peace, I know I could only thank my stalker and my daughter for giving me.
