“I guess I know where this is going.” I relax in the chair. “You were in love with her, but she chose Frank.”
He nods, his eyes sad, hinting that the feelings never went away. Otherwise, Jess’s portrait wouldn’t be in his office, where he can see her every day. “I loved her, Layla. She was my little dream. I tried my best to separate her from Frank’s influence. I was sure I succeeded. I was sure she choseme. Frank disappeared out of her life, and we started dating.”
“How long were you dating?”
“Only a few weeks.” He clenches his fist. His jaw ticks as his eyes snap to meet mine, a whole sea of regret in his gray irises. “What you need to know right now is that I’m sorry.”
“Just say what needs to be said, Anatolij. I guess this is not the end of the revelations, so just say it. Did Frank find out about you? Why did you leave her?”
Anatolij sits up, his spine straight as an arrow. “She left me for him, but... she came back one night, crying.” He pauses for a deep calming breath, draining the second glass of port with trembling hands. He’s always an oasis of calmness. This sudden nervousness looks out of place on a man of his importance. “She was pregnant but had no idea which of us was the father.”
Confusion hits me first, right before my heart rate soars. Hundreds of wet centipedes with icy feet crawl under my skin. Childhood memories flash before my eyes, reminding me of the life I was given by a man who took his revenge on my mother for her betrayal.
“She wasn’t sure which of us was the father until you were born,” he continues, his words distant as if spoken through a sheet of thick glass. “There was no need for paternity tests. Your blood type was enough...”
B negative. One of the rarest blood types in the world. Both Frank and Jess are A positive, but... “I inherited my blood type from my grandmother.”
“You can only inherit your blood type from your parents, Layla. Frank and Jess are both A positive. You can’t be a B type from two A type parents... I’m B negative too, baby girl.”
Individual words fail to penetrate my psyche. They stretch, blending into a long, incomprehensible, distorted sound. My lungs stop pumping enough oxygen. I’m breathing too fast, too shallow. Black spots appear before my eyes, and everything mutes as if I’m in a vacuum. All I can focus on are the memories. Every disappointed look on Franks’ face. Every time he screamed. Every time he considered me his enemy. Every time I felt worthless.
“Stop acting like a spoilt brat.”
“Don’t cry; crying is for sissies.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Go to your room.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“You’re just like your mother. Useless.”
“Don’t come crying to me.”
“Get out of my face.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s your problem. Deal with it.”
“Don’t count on me.”
“You’re on your own.”
His words play in my mind on repeat, echoing in the deepest recesses of my soul, each memory as painful as a cigarette burn. I blamed myself for years, convinced I wasn’t good enough or smart enough to deserve his love. No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough.
Now, I know why. Frank couldn’t love me.
He couldn’t stand me because I wasn’t his daughter.
I was a burden. A constant reminder of Jess’s affair. A constant reminder of how close he was to losing her. Maybe that’s why he grew to despise her as much as he despised me...
All my life, I looked at Frank and saw the eighth wonder of the world. I spent nineteen years perfecting my personality to please him, but no matter who I became or how I acted, he put me down time and time again. Instead of giving up, I worked harder. I craved the day when he’d be proud to call me his daughter. He couldn’t... He couldn’t be the father I needed because he wasn’t my father.
My mind races to its limits and panic pulls on my throat like tight ropes. I’m choking, struggling to resurface from the pile of unwanted memories. My mind strips me of defense mechanisms and self-worth.
“Layla.”