If your father abused your mom

Alone in my mother's car, parked by the side of the road, in a secluded spot of a busy New York street, I find myself immersed in a sea of solitude. The gentle hum of the engine fills the air, accompanied by a soft breeze that tousles my hair. Today, I am Samantha, a woman overcome with sadness, observing the world pass by as cars roll along the asphalt with a monotonous rhythm. Passersby hurry along the sidewalk, their footsteps blending with the distant sounds of the city.

The street teems with life, a contrast of vibrant scenes. Young couples, lost in their own worlds, venture into charming little restaurants, perhaps embarking on promising dates filled with love and laughter. Children, adorned in halloween costumes, scuttle about with excitement, their laughter echoing through the air as they collect sweet treats from each house.

But today, I cannot partake in their joy. The world feels hollow, devoid of meaning. Just twelve hours ago, I laid my mother to rest, burying her beneath the weight of my shattered heart. Grief lingers, refusing to be soothed by the passage of time. The funeral replays in my mind, disappointment weighing heavily upon me.

Why weren't they mournful enough? How could life go on effortlessly for everyone else? It infuriates me. If I possessed even the tiniest sliver of magic, I would command the world to halt, to acknowledge my pain, and allow me to grieve without the pressure of moving on, as if my mother's existence were just another fleeting moment.

Within my trembling hands, I tightly clutch a bottle of my mother's favorite Italian liquor. Amarone della Valpolicella. The label is worn, faded, much like the precious memories I hold dear. I twist the cap, feeling the resistance give way. The familiar and comforting aroma dances before me. With a trembling breath, I bring the bottle to my lips, taking a small sip. The liquid burns, overpowering my delicate palate.

Tears sting my eyes, blurring the world before me. I hastily wipe them away, shifting my gaze to the passersby. Are they watching? Are they judging me? I feel a sense of relief as no one pays me any mind. I am just another face among the sea of strangers, lost in their own stories.

Yet, in this moment, as the moon casts long shadows over the street, a profound emptiness engulfs me. I yearn for the world to pause, to acknowledge the vast void within me. But life continues its relentless march, uncaring and indifferent to the shattered pieces of my heart.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. The cool leather embraces me, offering a fleeting sense of solace. From a distant corner, a beggar sits, strumming a guitar, his weathered hands creating a melancholic melody. People drop pennies at his feet, and it comforts me that people still care for an unfortunate beggar.

Another sip of the bitter liquor mingles with my tears. It mirrors my internal turmoil, both bitter reminders of a life now incomplete. In the quiet confines of the car, I allow my emotions to spill forth, unbridled and raw.

The world continues to spin, oblivious to my pain. And in this moment, surrounded by echoes of laughter and footsteps, I can't help but question the meaning of it all. If death can strip life of its purpose so effortlessly, then what does any of it matter? Leaning forward, I rest my head against the steering wheel, and the familiar scent of my mother's perfume fills the space, bringing both comfort and anguish.

When I raise my head, I notice a man across the road. He stands in front of a small fire, behind a worn rail fence, watching as the flames hungrily devour the pieces of paper he throws into them. I wonder why he has a stack of papers in his hand, but the distraction is welcome. It's almost as if he's searching for something, scrutinizing each piece before consigning it to the flames.

I can't help but draw a parallel between the burning paper and my own experiences. Each piece of my mother's existence feels like it's being consumed by time, slowly fading away until there's nothing left but fragments of a forgotten life. The words that held meaning, once carrying so much weight in my heart, now disintegrate into nothingness. People move on, they forget, and the significance a person once had becomes nothing more than ash.

A single tear escapes my eye, and I quickly brush it away with the back of my hand. It seems like everything around me conspires to make me sad. The heaviness in my chest intensifies, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Someone once said that life has a way of knocking you down when you least expect it, leaving you gasping for air and searching for meaning.

I tear my gaze away from the man and direct it skyward, where the stars twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The solitude they bring is both comforting and humbling, reminding me that my current emotional state, as significant as it feels, is just a tiny blip in the grand scheme of things. Galaxies collide, angels and gods engage in celestial battles, and here I am, a twenty-five-year-old woman who has lost the one thing she cherished most about life.

Maybe, just maybe, my mother is up there among those stars, watching over me. The thought brings a glimmer of solace, a fragile thread of hope. I find myself momentarily lost in the idea of her presence, finding peace in the notion that she might have found her place in the heavens.

Minutes pass, and the sound of approaching footsteps snaps me back to reality. I turn my head and find the man who was burning the pieces of paper standing by my car window.

"Hey, you alright?" he asks, genuine concern filling his voice. Damn, he's surprisingly attractive. From across the road, he didn't seem like such a big deal, but up close, his face is perfectly smooth, like a freshly tarred road, and his well-sculpted beard looks meticulously designed for stroking. The size of his chest and arms suggests dedication to fitness, and perhaps his masculinity leaves me momentarily speechless.

"I'm fine," I manage to say. "I just need some time alone."

He raises an eyebrow and smirks, causing my gaze to linger a little longer. "Boyfriend troubles, huh? Well, most guys in New York are douchebags anyway. It was bound to happen," he says playfully, mischief lacing his voice.

I give him a hard stare, and he laughs. "I'm sorry. I'm joking. It's a bad joke."

He continues talking, sharing his own tale of heartbreak. "I had a girlfriend who lives in Africa. A country called Tunisia. We broke up yesterday. I just burnt every poem I ever wrote for her."

The image of the papers consumed by flames flashes through my mind, and a part of me can't help but admire his romantic spirit. Writing poems for someone is a rare gesture in my book. The only guy who ever wrote me a poem was the same one I slept with. But why keep a girlfriend who lives in Africa? I won't ask.

"I'm really not in the mood for company, I'm sorry," I repeat, hoping my tone comes across as rude but not insulting. Just rude enough to make him leave.

He nods, leaning casually against my car, his gaze diverting to the bustling street. "Well, at least you're being honest. I like it when girls are honest. It makes me want to push further, unless, of course, you're just toying with my feelings and have no intention of giving me a chance," he says, his words carrying a mix of playfulness and uncertainty.

I roll my eyes, unsure of how to respond. My lips part, and I find myself saying, "I'm sorry, but I just buried my mom. I'm in a terrible mood where I wish I weren't even alive, and the last thing I need right now is someone bugging me."

He looks at me, his eyes filled with understanding. "Good pain should be shared. It connects us all, reminds us that we're living in this painful, pathetic world together," he says, a gentle smile gracing his lips. And for some reason, I find myself subtly returning the smile before looking away.

He's either profoundly deep, or simply trying to charm another lady with intelligent lines. Maybe to ease his own pain. If it's the latter, I would understand. We all try to escape pain. And most times we choose a dumb mode of escape.

I can't deny his undeniable good looks. He's like a perfectly cooked dish, tempting and tantalizing. If I weren't drowning in my sadness, I might care more.

"My name is Keff Oualdron," he finally introduces himself, leaning in slightly. "I'm into real estate, and my company owns most of the houses in this neighborhood. Funny thing is, my tenants don't even know who I am. If you're one of them, I could let you live rent-free for a year, just out of the kindness of my heart."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not one of your tenants," I reply, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "And a serious landlord should think twice before letting people stay in his house for free."

He chuckles at my statement, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. His intense gaze locks onto mine, and he asks, "What's your name?"

I let out a sigh, feeling a mixture of reluctance and curiosity. "I'm really not in the mood," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"Just your name, and then I'll disappear from your life completely," he says, leaning in closer. I take a deep breath, contemplating his request before finally giving in.

"Samantha," I say, watching as his eyes light up.

"When I hear a name like Samantha, I know there are treasures waiting for me," he says, his words dripping with anticipation. I scoff, finding it hard to believe this guy and his cheesy lines.

"What do you mean by treasures? It's just a regular name," I challenge, my skepticism evident.

Keff nods knowingly. "Yes, it's a regular name, but something tells me you're not a regular lady," he insists, his voice carrying a sense of certainty.

I shoot him a skeptical look. "I'm not in the mood for flattery," I retort.

He takes a step closer, his eyes locked onto mine. "I can prove that you're extraordinary if you'd be willing to accompany me to a special place right now," he proposes, his words tinged with adventure.

"I'd rather be alone in this car right now, sorry," I reply, my voice wavering. But Keff doesn't give up easily. "You look miserable sitting in the car, just sad. Would your mom want you to be sad for the rest of your life?" he asks, his words piercing through my heart. "I'm sorry if that's too forward, but I bet your mom would want you to live your best life. That's what every good parent wants for their child," he adds, his smile coaxing me to let go of my pain and embrace the possibility of happiness.

I take a deep breath, feeling a mixture of warmth, nervousness, and a soft simmering excitement inside me. I step out of the car, my voice barely a whisper. "So, where are we going?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. Keff stretches out his hand toward me, an unspoken invitation. "I'll show you," he says.

"We're not holding hands," I quickly interject.

He withdraws his hand. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."

A slight hesitation holds me back. Where exactly am I going with a stranger? But this guy, seemingly from out of nowhere, gives me a nudging glance, and I feel like if I don't go with him, he won't let me be. He'll stand around my car, sniffing for conversation.

So I walk with him, and the buzz of the city streets sends warning signals into my thoughts for not telling this guy off. But as the warm breeze carries fragments of laughter and distant sirens, painting the air with a vivid backdrop of urban symphony, I take in the sideview of Keff, and the calmness of his walking makes me feel oddly at ease.

As if sensing my thoughts, Keff begins to sing softly. His voice weaves through the air, caressing my ears with a gentle melody. So, he's the kind of guy who sings openly, not just in the safety of his shower.

"This song," he says, "it's by Ed Sheeran. Inspired by the loss of his mother. It's about finding healing amidst the pain of losing someone you love."

Listening to his voice, I feel a soothing sensation wash over me. "Is this your way of wooing every woman you meet?" I ask, pretending his voice doesn't impress me.

He chuckles, his laughter mingling with the song still lingering in the air. "Not really, just talking with you reminded me of it."

"Hallelujah, you were an angel in the shape of my mom, and when I'm down, you'll be there holding me up, spread your wings as you go..." he sings, and I ponder the lyrics, feeling a surge of emotions within me. My mother truly was an angel, an angel who couldn't cast away a demon. A demon named my father. Anger courses through my veins at the thought of him, but I keep it buried beneath a calm facade, listening to Keff's voice, which perhaps holds a hint of healing.

"Do you believe that good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell?" I cut in midway through his song.

His gaze meets mine, unflinching. I feel like I'm going to regret asking the question. "You might not like my opinion, but I'll tell you anyway. I believe that God put us in this world to find the best of His creation. People who consistently choose to do bad things, they choose to become the mistakes of God," he replies.

His words lunge at me, and I remain silent for a moment, reflecting. Choose to become mistakes. That's right. My dad would fit perfectly into that description. Everything God despises, he probably is, and my regret is discovering it too late.

In the midst of my turmoil, Keff interrupts my thoughts with a question that catches me off guard. "Do you believe in love?"

I turn to him with my face itching to reply, but my head failing to find the right sentence. Then I send my sights searching forward, gambling with what an honest answer would be. "I'm caught between uncertainty and my habit of sabotaging relationships when they become too real," I admit. "The only love I've ever known was my mother's."

Keff nods, understanding etched into his features. "Then let me be honest with you. I was hoping for a one-night stand when I approached you." He gives me an innocent face, and I smile because genuinely, this guy is funny and unpredictable.

"Mr. Keff, where exactly are you taking me?" I ask, feeling a mix of curiosity and caution.

He stops walking, looks at me, and puts a finger through my hair, then touches my necklace—my mom's necklace. I'm tempted to slap his hand away, but his fingers on my neck send a tingle through me. "I...uh...I needed a distraction. I've been really upset about my breakup," he says.

"How could you have a girlfriend in faraway Africa and not expect to get hurt?" I lift my eyebrows at him, making it clear how dumb I think his relationship was.

Keff shrugs, resignation and vulnerability in his eyes. "Early on, I realized that love is fleeting, a temporary high that never lasts. When people get too familiar with each other, flaws are exposed, and the excitement fades. My studies led me to believe that the best way to preserve love's spark is through distance. That's why I did it, hoping this time it would be different."

"But it wasn't."

"Yeah."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Well, I guess I feel sorry for you."

"Sorry enough to leave me with a kiss."

Our eyes lock, and the tension intensifies with each step he takes toward me.

"I..." I swallow, unsure of how to evade him. Suddenly, he leans in, and our lips meet in a passionate kiss. My senses reel, a conflicting mix of guilt and pleasure dancing through my veins. I shouldn't be enjoying this, not so soon after my mother's passing. But I can't bring myself to pull away, not yet.

Just as the intensity of the moment builds, my phone shatters the silence. For a moment, I wish it would be quiet, but the ringing continues. Keff steps back, allowing me to check, and my heart skips a beat as I read the number before I read the message. I deleted my dad's number, but I could recognize the combination of digits even in a dream.

"I'm at your house," it reads.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," I blurt out, my mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions aimed at my father. Keff says something, but my focus is lost in the chaos of my thoughts. Without hesitation, I hail a cab, and while jumping in, I recall where I parked my mom's car, but I'll have to come back for it. My dad is at my house, and something in me wants to get to him as fast as possible.

The taxi comes to a halt just a short distance from my house. My heart pounds in my chest as I burst out of the car. My father's figure looms in the doorway, and a surge of rage engulfs me, threatening to consume everything in its path. But cold fear paralyzes me, locking my limbs in place. I'm trapped between the fire of my anger and the icy grip on my leg.

In my mind, I'm unleashing a storm of fury upon my dad, hurling curses and objects at him with reckless abandon. I'm hurting him so badly he's begging for forgiveness. But reality holds me captive, my gaze fixed upon his form. I can't help but reflect on the haunting tales my mother shared with me, the endless torrent of abuse she endured at his hands. Why would my dad do those unspeakable things? How could he transform from a seemingly gentle man into a monstrous being? Was he ever truly sweet, or was it all a facade?

My mom's voice echoes in my head, recounting the nightmarish moments when my dad locked the doors to their room and beat her until she lost consciousness. How he callously betrayed her, using her own hard-earned money to fund his infidelity. As she poured out her heart, tears streamed down her face, and my own tears join hers now. I can't help but wonder why he never raised a hand against me. At least then, I could've shared in my mother's pain, shown her that she wasn't alone in her suffering.

A single tear slips from my eye. I look around, and there's an empty wine bottle beside my trash can. With my trembling hand, I pick it up, clutch it, contemplating the satisfaction I might find in shattering it against my father's facade. Sam. A voice breaks through my turmoil, originating from behind me. I turn.

"Jeremiah,"

"I think you need to be aware of the entire story, before you approach your father."

I'm startled to see Jeremiah. The enigmatic Jamaican houseboy, who once lived under the same roof with my family. The only guy who was ever honest with me in words, poetry and action. And the only one who had shared an intimate night with me. His unexpected appearance, fills me with both intrigue and trepidation.