Mia Figlia

Chapter 51 ✔️

PoV Stella

There he sat. At his massive wooden desk, around which we had always played tag in my childhood. I let my gaze glide over the man. His once dark hair was streaked with thick gray strands. The wrinkles on his forehead and mouth had furrowed deep into his skin. He looked decades older since I had last seen him.

A sharp pain flashed through my heart at the sight of him. Although he had not protected me from my stepmother or Jack, he was my father.

"My little Stella!" He rose from his seat and walked toward us with his arms stretched wide. Gianluca growled something softly beside me. Some savage insult in his native language.

"Zitto!", I hissed at him, and to make matters worse, I elbowed him in the ribs. He should be quiet. Tears burned in my eyes as my father pulled me into a hug. How I had longed for this! Already many years before my escape. Trembling, I wrapped my arms around him.

"I am so glad you are alive," he whispered in my ear before his voice died away. His body trembled. Emotions hidden and suppressed for years, maybe even since my mother's death, burst to the surface. We cried together. For my mom, for our lost time as a family and our reunion.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, we broke away from each other. His face was shining from the shed tears, single driblets were still hanging on his grayed eyelashes. His gaze wandered from me to Isabella, who eyed him curiously from the arm of her Italian grandfather. His pupils dilated, then he looked back at me.

"She is your spitting image, as you are your mother's." He stepped toward her to take her in his arms, but my father-in-law made no move to give her up. He scowled at my father as if he wanted to put a bullet in his head.

"Padre, è anche sua nipote". Riccardo put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "Devo ricordarti com'è stata la mia infanzia?" I looked at the two men with raised eyebrows. I had still understood the first sentence, a hint that Isabella had not only my father-in-law for a grandfather. But what was the second? Guilt flashed in the Italian's eyes. Had my husband pointed out his own wrongdoing to him?

The posture of the older man stiffened. With his jaws clenched, he looked briefly at me. His dark eyes scrutinized every millimeter of my face. My breath caught in my chest. Was he resisting my desire? Even though he knew full well that I wanted to make peace with my father and no longer resented his failure? He could not be serious! The same helplessness as in my childhood paralyzed my body parts. Again, I was the little child dependent on the goodwill of others.

I shook my head vigorously and took a deep breath. Never again did I want to be this helpless. Suppressing any trembling, I walked toward him and looked him firmly in the eyes. He sighed deeply.

I took Isabella from him and lowered her to the floor. She looked at my father curiously. Tears welled up in his eyes again. Trembling, he knelt in front of my daughter and pulled her to his chest with a gentleness that gave me a slight sting. Swallowing hard, I remembered how much I had enjoyed these hugs as a child. Now to see that he was just as tender and loving with Isabella as he had been with me before my mother's death broke my heart on the one hand and calmed me on the other.

A wave of relief washed over my body. Confidence that I finally had my father back took control of me. My family was whole again. No one could give me back my mother or the lost years, but I did not expect that. What I had now was much more important. A wonderful daughter, a loving husband, a protective father-in-law, and now my own dad. I knelt down and embraced both child and man. A peace that I usually felt solely in Riccardo's arms dispelled any doubt. Coming here had been the right decision.

"She did what?" Gianluca held his stomach laughing. Growling, I tried to stab him with my look. I found the subject much less funny.

"If she was grounded, as I now realize, unjustly, she picked the door lock of her room using hairpins." My father shook his head thoughtfully, the smile disappearing from his lips. "I always thought she was a rebellious teenager. But that bitch I married lied to me from beginning to end. My little Stella was just trying to enjoy her life." His voice grew more monotone toward the end. Several times he swallowed, as if to get rid of a thick lump in his throat. It seemed to me that only now, when he was talking about it, he fully understood what kind of hell I had been living in. I should hate him for it, but deep inside I felt why he did not see it. Had not wanted to see.