Holding On

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ

He hadn't changed much but for the lines of stress and unhappiness embedded in his forehead, and she stared at him with a restricted sense of denial.

Surely it couldn't be him, could it? It couldn't be the same man who, without giving her any sensible reason, had told her countless times that he couldn't stand the sight of her.

What did he want anyways? To once again declare his hate for her mother? A hate who's roots she'd never been given the prerogative of knowing.

“Emma...” He started hesitantly, and if Emma didn't have firsthand experience of how cold and stone hearted he could be, she could've swore his voice wavered with emotion. Then he called her the one thing she'd grown tired of yearning to be called many years ago, “My daughter.”

Her breaths shallowed, and her heart constricted painfully against her chest. And she forced out a title she'd never been prepared to use again. “Father.” The word burned her tongue with an acerbic aftermath.

“Daughter...”

“Father...”

Em was sure the pattern would've continued on forever but for Zain's interruption. “Uhm, I think I should leave you alone to talk.” He sounded like he felt awkward, looking at her apologetically and pleadingly before walking off and out, leaving her alone to affront all the unexpected emotions she knew would leave her wrecked.

The shock, denial, anger, the hatred - they all poured in so quickly and suddenly that she barely had time to comprehend each one until they'd blended in the fortified synchrony of chaos.

“Dear...” Her father's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She watched him take hesitant, trepidant steps, obviously calculating each one of them.

When he reached out his hand to take hers in his, she pulled back instinctively, as if her brain knew that his touch would burn her. That it would open the the tap keeping her painful memories at bay, causing an overflow.

Insistent as he'd ever been, he tried once more, and right then, a flinch-worthy image flashed through her mind; that same hand advancing and striking her mother on the face. She recoiled immediately.

He looked at her confused and hurt yet with a glint of understanding. “I'm sorry. Can we talk?”

This was the first time she'd seen her father so nervous and hesitant, and as he pointed to the couches and led the way to the living room, she didn't feel her legs, but she found herself sitting on the one beside his a moment later.

“So how's life been?” He asked, ever so tentatively. “And how are things with your husband? I hope marriage is treating you well.” He tried to smile, but it came out awkward.

While she still couldn't comprehend why he was here talking to her after ten years with that tone, her tongue seemed to have forgotten one of it's vital functions.

“I heard you have a three year old daughter. How's she?”

That snapped her out of her trance. Like seriously, he had no shame in admitting that he just found out that she had a daughter whom she gave birth to three years ago?

Anger exploded within, shooting her to her feet. “What the hell do you want?” She demanded. “The last time we talked in person you were so distant and cold, so why are you acting all sweet and warm today?”

She turned around and put her palm on her forehead, trying to see if she could regain some control on herself. The 56 years old seemed taken aback for a bit, then he sighed. “You don't know how much I re...”

“What the hell do you want?!”

“I need your forgiveness.” He croaked desperately. “I need you to forgive me.”