42#42

42

I gazed at him, my father, the man I believed had perished in a vehicle collision. The disguise rested on the table between us, its vacant eyes as empty as the deceptions that had permeated my existence. For an instant, my thoughts were a maelstrom of recollections, intense and unprocessed, pulling me back to seven years prior.

Seven years ago, my life was different, more straightforward. Edinburgh was my home, a place filled with joy and where my mother's affection shielded me from life's difficulties. My mother, Suzanne, was my foundation, my everything.

Then there was Matthew Rodriguez. My father.

He would show up irregularly, his custom-made attire and costly fragrance a stark difference from our humble abode. I recall one particular evening, the atmosphere tense as he tossed a sack of currency onto the table.