You stared at Michael, not saying anything. For eighteen years you hadn't seen the man, and just when you were getting used to him being out of your life - he showed up.
"(Y/N)?" Michael frowned, making you roll your eyes.
"There's nothing to talk about," you slammed the door shut, making your way to the kitchen. For a minute, you breathed a sigh of relief when you thought that he was gone, but then he started knocking again, making you groan. "What?!" you opened the door again. "What do you want?!"
"I just want to talk," he closed his eyes before opening them again. "Can we be mature about this?"
"We could," you shrugged. "But I'm too petty," you faked a smile. "It's one of my best traits," you remarked sarcastically.
"Please," he sighed, bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Can we just talk?"
You huffed before stepping aside to let him in.
"Thank you," he spoke as he walked past you. "You have a lovely home," he commented, looking around.
"Thanks, I made it myself," you used sarcasm again, making Michael narrow his eyes.
"Do you hate me that much?" he frowned, turning back to face you. "That you won't converse properly with me?"
You looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. The truth was, you were in a lot of emotional pain, but the last thing you wanted to do was to cry in front of Michael.
"(Y/N)," he walked up to you, hesitantly placing his hands on your shoulders. As soon as he touched you, you felt your heart skip a beat. "I'm sorry," he breathed.
"Don't be," you laughed a little. "You just spoke your mind," you rolled your eyes slightly.
"No," he whispered. "For that evening...eighteen years ago," he shook his head. "I should never have asked you to leave,"
"Well, you were just being honest,"
"I wasn't," he grimaced a little.
"What do you mean?" you frowned as Michael cleared his throat nervously.
"That night....I told you that I didn't love you....but I did," he answered softly. "And I still do,"
Your eyes widened in shock. Half of you was filled with surprise, and the other half was filled with rage.
"Then why the hell would you lie?!" you snapped, making Michael jump slightly.
"I thought you'd be better off without me!" he defended. "And you are doing better without me! Look at you! You're the epitome of strength!"
"That's what it looks like," you snarled. "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me?! Four months after Ayla was born, I would sob every night - I missed you so much!" you scoffed. "And now you're telling me that you lied?!"
Michael took a step forward but you quickly took one back. His eyes were sad, and you were now crying.
"Eighteen years," you whispered. "Eighteen years, and you didn't even bother to find out about your daughter,"
"I tried," he shook his head. "I really did. I just..." he trailed off. "(Y/N)-"
"For seventeen long years, Ayla has believed that her father is dead!" you exclaimed. "What happens when she finds out that you're her father?!"
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind him. When he turned around, your eyes widened.
Standing there with a shocked look on her face, was Ayla.
"Mom? What the hell is going on?"
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