Chapter 93: Bittersweet memories
Lily’s POV
When I got into the car, I sighed and relaxed in my seat as I let my tears flow freely from my eyes.
The driver turned and eyed me awkwardly. “Hi.” He squeaked out.
“Drive.” I ordered in a low tone and thankfully he obliged immediately and zoomed off.
I put my legs on the seat and relaxed on the car door with my hands cradling my swollen belly as tears streamed down my face. The sun was about to set and the warm glow gazed on my face, but my gaze was inward, reliving the painful conversation.
Why did I think confessing my feelings would change everything? I thought he felt the same way, but his reaction was like a punch to the gut. He looked at me with a mix of surprise and discomfort, like I’d just told him a bad joke.
“You should have let me go first princess.” He sighed exasperated.
What kind of response was that?, i should have let him go first?, what does that even mean. Did he have something to say that would make me not want to love him?.
it seemed like he just wanted to avoid the conversation. He was so uncomfortable and avoided my gaze after I said what I said.
I felt a knot tighten in my chest and my heart sank as I replayed the conversation in my head, wondering where I went wrong. Was it something I said? Something I did? Or was it just never meant to be?.
He could have said something, anything, at least tell me that he felt something for me. The way he reacted cut deep, like a knife to my soul. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed and blatantly stupid.
I glanced down at my belly, feeling a surge of protectiveness toward my unborn child. This little one deserved better than a father who couldn’t love me.
“Why did I think this time would be different?” I sobbed, my body shaking. “Why did I think he’d want me?”
The car’s silence was overwhelming, a reminder of his indifference. I felt trapped, unsure of what the future held for me and my child. Was I going to live forever with a man who doesn’t desire me?, would he love my child as a father seeing as he doesn’t feel anything for me?, wouldn’t he resent my child the same?. Would I be able to live with that?.
As the tears flowed, I made a silent vow: my child would never doubt their worth, never feel unloved. I’d give them the world, even if their father couldn’t give me the love I deserved.
The car stopped at a red light, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My eyes were puffy and red. I looked like a mess, silent representation of my life right now.
I really thought we had a connection, or maybe he had grown to love me, like how was he able to kiss me, hold me and make love to me the way he does when he felt absolutely nothing for me.
Was I that difficult to love…, how could he do all these things and spend so much time with me and still can’t feel a thing for me.
I guess I had always known the truth, that he would never love me, we all do but hope just blurs the line a little. He never felt the same way, and now I’m left with a shattered heart and a deep regret for ever confessing my feelings. I should have just been a good girl and kept my mouth and my legs shut.
The light turned green, and the car moved forward, but I remained stuck in my thoughts, lost in a sea of what-ifs and maybes.
After a while, I was startled when the driver’s gentle voice broke the silence, “Hey, we’re here?”
I wiped my tears, forcing a weak smile. “Alright thank you.”
I struggled out of the car, holding my stomach with one hand and my purse in the other. I paid the driver and watched him silently as he drove off.
I stood in that position for a while, deliberately, to avoid facing the task i came to do. I stood before the familiar exterior, my feet rooted to the sidewalk. The warm evening sunlight danced across the windows, casting a deceptive sense of welcome. My heart wrestled with conflicting emotions apprehension, nostalgia, and dread.
This was my childhood home, where laughter and tears had mingled. But it was also the place where darkness had crept in, staining my memories.
My brother’s face flashed in my mind, his smile twisted into a grotesque grin. The memories i had carried for so long resurface in small flashes, making my skin crawl.
I shifted my weight, my swollen belly protesting the prolonged standing. My hand instinctively cradled my bump, a soothing gesture.
As I scanned the neighborhood, a sense of normalcy washed over me. Children played tag on the lawn, their carefree laughter carrying on the breeze. Mrs. Park tended to her garden, her green thumb evident in the vibrant blooms.
The tranquility was a facade, though. Behind these closed doors, dark secrets lurked.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable. The house would be empty; my mother was six feet deep, my father and Chase were under the raider, Rena was… well, who knew where Rena was?
I had not spoken to either of my family members in months and Rena was not an exception. I never tried to contact her and neither did she. Perhaps she might be have knowledge of where Chase and my father were hiding but I doubt she would put it upon herself to tell me or try to save me.
As always she never concerned herself with issues of others, she was all about herself. I couldn’t blame her entirely, being selfish was what saved her from being in my situation, and living her life the way she wants.
My gaze lingered on the window where I used to sit, watching the world go by. The same window where I had cried silent tears, feeling trapped and alone. For moment I saw younger me, siting quietly in tears, wishing on everything that the pain would go away.
The pain is still prominent within… she is my friend and anchor.
With a heavy sigh, I stepped onto the porch, the creaking wooden boards beneath my feet echoing through the stillness. My hands trembled at my sides as I placed my hand on the door.
A pause.
A deep breath.
I pushed open the door, stepping into the silence.
A shiver ran down my spine as the familiar scent of worn furniture, old books and stale air enveloped me but it was tainted by the dark memories that lingered within these walls.
Memories; bittersweet and suffocating.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper, knowing I was alone.
The emptiness replied.
My eyes scanned the room as I moved further inside. The faded couch, where my brother had sat, pretending to watch TV while his hands wandered, now looked worn and abandoned. The coffee table, where my father had placed his morning coffee, now stood bare.
I stepped into the kitchen where my mother had cooked family dinners, oblivious to the darkness brewing above, everything seemed so hollow. My brother’s smile flashed in my mind again, and I shuddered.
I stopped before the old oak table where we’d shared laughter and arguments, now everything stood bare.
How could something so beautiful, so sacred, be tainted by such ugliness?
My eyes welled up, but I blinked back tears. I had not come here to brood over my estranged family.
I wandered through the rooms, my footsteps echoing off the walls. Each step stirred memories, every room, every corner, held a memory, laughter, tears, and whispers in the dark. A painful reminder of what was once.
Every step echoed through the silence, reminding me of the secrets this house held. The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I climbed to the second floor, each step heavier than the last.
My childhood bedroom door loomed before me, its bright pink paint now faded and chipped. I hesitated, my hand trembling on the doorknob. This was where my brother had slipped into my bed, his whispers and touches haunting my dreams.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The room was empty, the bed made, but the memories remained. I saw myself, a vulnerable child, frozen in fear. I saw my brother’s face, twisted in a grotesque grin.
The bathroom, where I’d scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash away the shame, now seemed sterile and cold. The shower curtain, once a colorful floral pattern, now hung limp and faded.
I moved closer to the bed with hesitation and settled on it with my hand still cradling my belly. The silence was oppressive, but I needed this moment.
To confront the ghosts.
To reclaim my space.
To remind myself that I was no longer that vulnerable girl.
As I sat there, surrounded by the echoes of my past, I vowed to create a brighter future, for myself, for my child.
The stillness became a sanctuary, a reminder that I was strong enough to face whatever lay ahead.
“I’m still here. I’m still alive.” I whispered into the empty room.
The door creaked, causing me to jump in fright and my eyes widened when I saw the face of the man that walked in. “Not for long princess.” His familiar voice mocked and chuckled darkly.