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It’s just a bit bigger than a shoe box. For safety and security purposes, I’ve always had to keep it locked away underneath the floor because it contains pictures of my father.
I sit back on the bed and take out the photo album I wasn’t allowed to show anyone of my father with Mom and me.
The box holds several other trinkets from my mother, but this album always pulls on my heart.
I open it and look over pictures of my father holding me as a baby, then I flick through to the others of us as I got older. Dad might not have been as present as I wanted him to be, but he was with me as much as he could be.
My father took extensive measures so that no one would ever find out I was his daughter and Mom was his mistress. All to protect us from his enemies.
As far as I know, no one knows I exist apart from my father’s wife, Esperanza, who was enemy number one.
It was she who threatened our lives. The whole thing was a messy situation that was wrong on all counts because my father cheated on his wife.
He promised Mom he’d leave his wife for her. The day came when he was supposed to, and Esperanza blackmailed him into staying with her.
They never had kids. She couldn’t, but that wasn’t why Dad got involved with Mom. His marriage to Esperanza was a business arrangement between families, encouraged by his father because Dad had the cartel.
It was Grams who told me the whole story on my sixteenth birthday.
When my parents were alive, I would have been too young to understand what had happened, but I’m not sure either of them would have told me anything anyway.
Despite Esperanza’s threats, my father saw us in secret, and when we were together, it was magical.
I always believed Mom turned to drugs because she was so in love with my father, it hurt to live without him when she had to. It hurt me, too, because I could see just how much he loved us.
I’d see him a few times a year. Always, always on my birthday, then just before Christmas, and randomly when he could visit during the year. Dad would always get me whatever I wanted including my favorite cakes he got from Allyson Peterson’s Mom. She was a supply teacher at our school who was always doing bake sales.
Mom met her and liked her at one event, but of course they didn’t know my father was my father. They thought he was one of Mom’s friends from the fashion world because he was always so well dressed. Whenever he came to visit he’d stop there first, get my cakes, then come to me.
The last time I saw him was at Mom’s funeral. Then never again.
We found out from watching the news that he killed himself.
I’ve never been able to accept that as truth because he told me at Mom’s funeral that he was going to take care of me. I still don’t believe it now.
At eight years old, there was nothing I could do, and that’s how I ended up living with my grandparents.
As for money, Mom blew all of hers on drugs. The maintenance money Dad gave my grandparents went toward my education and my life, then eventually toward the extensive medical care my grandfather received when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.
The last of that money was put toward repairing the restaurant after the fire Grams accidentally started.
Prior to the fire, Grams cancelled both her business and health insurance, mistakenly believing them to be something else. It was then I found out she suffered from dementia and chronic heart disease. I also found out that she’d known for some time and kept it from me.
Suddenly, all finances were placed on me and I put a pause on my career plans.
We had to repair the restaurant because it was our primary source of income.
But had we known that Grams would need to go into a nursing home months later with the need for extensive medical treatment, we might not have done the repairs.Imay have done certain things differently.
That includes being with Gage and trusting him with that investment money.
Although at the time I was with him for close to a year, I might have seen him for who he was and wouldn’t have trusted him with personal details, like access to my bank account and Grams’ savings. I might have seen through his shit and lies when he offered to help and take care of things.
There’s so much grief and pain in my life that I actually fear happiness.
Every time I think I could be happy, something happens. It’s like a big cloud of dark mojo is perpetually waiting around the corner and watching for the moment to strike.
Tears I’ve been holding back trail down my cheeks, and I put the album away.
