“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.
They were two words, two simple words, but they were the two words that held so much history for a father and a daughter. At least, this father and this daughter. I had spent a good part of my life wishing for my father to apologize to me, to own the horrible truth of what his actions have done. I gave up a long time ago, coming to peace with the fact I’d probably never hear an apology come from his lips. My father was a harsh man, it was a hard pill to swallow because for the first decade of my life my dad was my hero. He had been my best friend. When our relationship became strained, I started to doubt the love my father had for me, thinking every tender moment we shared was a farce. I even started to believe that the bond we had was something I had dreamt in my head.
His words both shocked and confused me equally, being as I wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. I chose to ignore his apology because Victor Pastore was never truly sorry for anything, another realization that came, as I grew older. Maybe that’s what helped me get over the lack of apologies and realize I didn’t even want one anymore.
“Do you remember our summers here in this house?” I asked, looking over at the flames crawling up the walls of the fireplace.
“Vaguely,” he admitted.
“I do. I remember every single one.” It was sad that he didn’t remember the good times we shared as family, or maybe it was sad that that’s all I held on to.
“It was a long time ago,” he said softly as he peeled his eyes away from me and looked down.
“Yes.” I agreed, “Mom used to bring us up during the week with Aunt Gina and Nana and you would meet us on the weekends.” I looked over at my dad and studied his profile. When had he gotten so old? It shamed me to think I hadn’t been paying attention to him. Some people get lines on their face from laughing and living but the lines on my dad’s face weren’t caused by any of that. I held my memories of this house so close because those were the times I remembered my dad happy, laughing and being carefree.
“You used to let me bury you in the sand,” I whispered, “You taught me how to swim and not to be afraid of the ocean. We would sit in the sand and build the biggest sand castles. You used to lift me in the air and spin me around until my belly hurt from laughing so hard.”
“Adrianna…” he started.
“When did you stop loving me, dad?” I asked. His head snapped up, turned, and set his eyes on mine.
“What? How could you even ask me that question?” He questioned, swallowing hard and squeezing my hand as his eyes stared into mine. “I love you more than anything in this world.”
I wish I believed you.
“Adrianna, look at me, listen to what I’m saying to you. I have always loved you. You and your sister are my whole heart.” His words sounded desperate as he pleaded for me to trust him, seeing the doubt reflected in my eyes.
“I know when it changed for me,” I started. “I know when you became my enemy and not my hero.” If he cared then my words would hurt him. They’d gut him the way every single one of his actions have affected me. “It was the moment I realized how feared you were and how people treated me differently because I was your daughter. It didn’t matter much when I was younger because you were always there to soften the blow. I didn’t care how people treated me or what their thoughts were about me because you were my dad and you loved me. You loved me so much. You were the most important person in my life and as long as I had you, I didn’t care about having anyone else.”
“Until someone else loved you and you loved him more than you loved me,” he whispered.
“You didn’t have to change. It was never a competition, dad. You didn’t give me a chance to love you both. You made me choose, and you made the choice easy for me because of all the things you did to keep me away from him.”
“You want the truth?” He asked.
Of course, I wanted the truth, but I wasn’t certain that his version of the truth was something I could even trust. He was a master manipulator. I nodded my head and gave him a chance.