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“But that’s what I keep trying to tell you, it wasn’t all terrible. Michael—”
“No!” He cuts me off, his temper catching light. “I will not hear his name in this house! Do you understand how terrified I was, Cecelia, can you comprehend how worried I was that I would never see you again? To just disappear like you did, from right under Connie and Raphael’s noses, at your birthday celebration dinner, of all things! And then to discover you’d been…” He widens his arms, casting for the right phrase. “…forcibly detained after already enduring a vicious beating. I was frantic, we all were! Do you know what that does to a father?”
I shake my head, cowed by his words, tears beginning to well in my eyes.
“Well, I’ll tell you what it does. It causes the most intense agony. Not being able to protect your child from danger is one of the worst feelings in the world. It’s indescribable. You’ll understand one day if you’re ever blessed with a child of your own.” He turns his back to me, running a hand down his face, residual emotion stiffening his stance.
I sniff and wipe one of the fallen tears from my cheek. “Well, Papa, that day will be coming in about six months.”
The words hang in the air for a few seconds before my father turns back to me, his usually kind, open face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean, Cecelia?” he asks quietly.
Despite the warm evening, I feel a shiver shudder through me and I take a deep breath, knowing that there’ll be no going back once I’ve spoken my next sentence. I look him square in the eyes and confirm what he must now already understand. “I’m pregnant, Papa.”
I watch his expression change from shock to disbelief in a split second. I swallow hard, waiting for his response but for a few moments he says, and does, nothing. It’s as though time has magically stopped.
“Papa, did you hear what I said?” I ask, wanting to be sure.
He huffs out a breath, his jaw slack as he reaches for the wingback chair and slides onto it. He sits, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them and just stares at a spot on the rug.
I move over and kneel at his feet, taking one of his hands. “Papa, you’re scaring me,” I say. “Please say something.”
He looks down at me with a vacant expression. “Who’s the father?” he asks.
I feel my bottom lip begin to wobble but with great effort I remain composed. “Michael Luciano,” I whisper.
My father lets go of my hand and stands up, nodding his head. He starts to pace the room, getting faster until he comes to a stop at his desk. He closes his fists and brings them both down on the desktop in a display of emotion I have never witnessed him show before. I gasp in shock and scramble to my feet.
“He forced you.” It’s not a question but a statement; a reaction I was expecting.
“No, Papa, please listen, it wasn’t like that,” I protest.
“If he is still alive, I will hunt him down, and I will kill him!” he roars. “Not only does he take my baby girl from me, but he defiles her!” He punctuates the last three words with three more bangs of his fist. He’s a bellowing bull, an alpha protecting his young, albeit misguidedly.
“Papa, please stop! You don’t understand!”
He picks up his phone, swiping the screen and stabbing at numbers, frenzied with action. I stride over and smack the phone out of his hand, a daring but necessary display of insolence on my part. I need him to hear me.
“Papa, I love him, and I want his baby!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
We stare at each other, a tableau of rigidity, our heavy breaths the only sound in the high-ceilinged room. Now everything really is out in the open. I feel relieved.
Moments pass before my father finally speaks again. His voice is quieter now, his demeanor calmer. “Nobody loves their captor, Cecelia, you are deluded. But you are also my daughter and you have lived through a terrible experience. Of course, I will welcome my grandchild into this family but what I will never, ever do is accept that man as its father. If you want to remain my daughter, I forbid you to so much as speak his name ever again.”
“But, Papa—”
“That is my decision. There is no more to be said on the matter.”
Distraught, I run from the office, up the curved staircase, along the shadowy landing and into my bedroom where I throw myself heavily on the bed and sob until my throat aches and my head pounds. If only Michael was here now, to hold me, to place his palm on my stomach in awe of the life growing inside me, to prove to my stubborn papa that he’s a good, honorable man, worthy of me. I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, and I can’t bear the thought of my child never knowing their father.
Six
CECELIA
“Bye bye, Mommy.”
“Bye bye, baby,” I say, planting several kisses in quick succession on my son’s smooth cheek, delighting in the sound of his laugh as I do. I may only be meeting Connie for lunch, but I’ll miss him, as I always do whenever we’re apart. Don’t get me wrong, Micah is a bundle of inquisitive energy, a cannonball in toddler form, and I’m looking forward to a break, a rare child-free meal, but I’m sure I’ll be scrolling through the thousands of pictures I have of him on my phone before I’ve even ordered my food.
“Bye, Papa, thank you again for watching him.” I kiss my father too and walk backwards, waving enthusiastically at them both until I reach my car parked in our gravel driveway.
