mysterious man, was actually my father?

Stepping into the house, I felt an immediate shift in the air. The usual warmth of home felt distant, replaced by something heavier. It wasn't just my mother's expression that told me something was wrong—it was the silence, thick and was never ready to move, pressing against the walls.

She closed the door behind me and turned to face me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes swept over me, searching, as if making sure I was really standing there in front of her.

"Sit down," she said, motioning to the couch.

I hesitated. "Mother... you're scaring me. Just tell me what's going on."

Her lips parted, but then she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Sit first."

That was never a good sign.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto the couch, my fingers gripping the edge of the cushion. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The walls of our home had never felt so suffocating before.

Charlotte sat across from me, pressing her palms together like she was steeling herself for whatever she was about to say. Her shoulders sagged slightly, like she was carrying something too heavy, something she had been holding onto for far too long.

"I got a call today," she finally said, her voice low.

I sat up straighter. "From who?"

She looked me in the eyes, hesitation flickering across her face before she spoke.

"Your father."

A sharp jolt ran through me.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard her.

" what?"

"He called today," she repeated, her voice carefully measured, like she was testing how I would react.

I swallowed, my mind scrambling to make sense of her words. My father. A man I hadn't spoken to in years. A man who had walked out on us when I was just a kid.

A man who, as far as I knew, had barely given me a second thought since then.

Now, suddenly, he was calling?

I felt my hands tighten into fists against my lap. "What did he want?"

Charlotte let out a slow breath, her gaze unreadable. "He's in town. And he wants to see you."

The words lingered in the air between us, heavy and impossible to ignore.

I blinked, waiting for her to say something else, something to make this all make sense, but nothing came.

Finally, I let out a breath. "And?"

Her frown deepened. "And I don't know if that's a good idea, Nabie."

Something inside me tensed. "Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?"

She shook her head. "I just— I don't want you getting hurt. He always knows what to say to make things sound good, but that doesn't mean he's changed."

I clenched my jaw, emotions twisting in my chest.

For years, I had convinced myself that I didn't care. That he wasn't worth my thoughts, my feelings, my anger. He had left. He had made his choice. And I had grown up without him.

But now, hearing his name, knowing he was suddenly reaching out—it made my heart pound in a way I didn't like.

I wanted to ask why now?

What had changed?

Why had he stayed away all these years, only to decide he wanted to see me now?

Charlotte must have seen the storm of emotions flickering across my face because she sighed, leaning forward. "I know this is a lot to take in," she said gently. "I didn't want to tell you at first, but I knew it wasn't my choice to make."

That surprised me.

She always made it seem like she didn't want me to have anything to do with him. But now, she was saying it was my choice?

Well... It wasn't that she wanted nothing to do with me... She kept herself at a distance, folded up with worms and bills.

I swallowed. "Do you think I should see him?"

Her expression darkened, and for a moment, she didn't answer. Then, softly, she said, "I think… that's up to you. But I also think you need to be careful."

Careful?

Because she still didn't trust him?

I looked away, staring at the old family photo on the coffee table. It was just me and her in the picture. No space left for the man who had left us behind.

And yet, a small, unwanted part of me couldn't stop wondering—

What if he had changed?

What if he actually wanted to make things right?

Would it be so wrong to hear him out?

The idea of meeting him felt like opening a door that had been locked for so long I had forgotten it existed. And I wasn't sure if I was ready to see what was on the other side.

Charlotte must have sensed my hesitation because she reached out, placing a hand on mine. Her warmth was familiar, grounding. "You don't have to decide right now," she murmured.

I nodded, though my mind was still racing.

But before I could say anything else, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

A text. From an unknown number.

Hi, Nabie. It's me. Your dad.

My breath caught in my throat.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. The words felt unreal, like I had stepped into a story that didn't belong to me.

"Nabie?" Charlotte's voice was cautious, worried.

I swallowed hard before setting my phone face down on the table. "Nothing."

Her lips pressed together, but she didn't say anything.

For a long moment, we just sat there in silence.

Finally, I spoke. "I wouldn't go to see him."

Charlotte looked at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then, she let out a quiet sigh and nodded.

"That's good." she whispered.

I nodded slowly, the guilt filling me for lying to her, I was obviously going to see him.

But I also knew one thing for sure—

Ignoring him wouldn't make the questions go away.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to finally get some answers, from the man, that called himself my father.