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Dylan

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Dylan

Every day that passed without seeing him allowed me to breathe easier. Ever since that chance meeting on the street, I've walked around in fear of him.

Jeremy and Luke hadn't left my apartment in days, and I was thankful for them to be with me in that time. They truly were my brothers, and I couldn't be more grateful for their instincts to protect me from such monsters that plagued my past and present.

Now, it was Saturday. And I was dreading the fact that I had to tell my mom that I had seen her ex-husband.

"You sure you'll be fine?" Luke had asked.

"I'll be okay. Thanks though,"

And then I had left the apartment.

Mom had called me earlier and said that she didn't feel like going to the cafe today, and would rather have breakfast at her place. I didn't think it was out of the ordinary; sometimes the cafe tea got old from being such a normal routine.

As I drove towards my mother's home outside of the city, I did every anti-anxiety exercise I could think of in order to dissolve the nerves I felt.

I wished Josephine were here; she'd know exactly how to calm me down. She'd know all the right things to say and she'd even be with me for every step of this confession I was about to deliver.

I turned down the street, the tires of my car rolling me towards the house that fostered the happier years of my childhood. I saw my mom's car in the driveway, and a sudden spike of dread entered my mind for a moment.

I didn't know how she would react to this news; that I had seen my father. I didn't want to tell her that he had somehow found us.

How had he found us?

It was a question that hadn't left my mind since seeing him.

I walked up to the door, not bothering to knock before I went in. From the entryway, I heard the clinking of silverware and conversation emanating from the dining room. Mom had company over?

"Mom?" I called out, walking to the eating area. "Who's -"

I stopped cold.

"Hi honey," Mom looked up at me from her seat. Her eyes held an expression of guilt and concern.

"What the fuck?" The words were out before I could even think.

"Watch your language,"

The voice broke through the ringing barrier that had built in my mind. I turned toward it, bracing myself for the storm that was about to come.

He sat there. He sat at the table I ate at, in the house I had lived in. He sat there in my mother's home, as though he had always been there.

He wasn't alone, though. A woman was with him. The three of them sat there, mugs of coffee in front of them, while I stood in the doorway.

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