Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I didn’t speak to him for almost twenty years, Jonathan. Twenty years. I have your mam to thank for helping us reconnect. That day when we shared coffee for the first time, she asked me if I knew what my dad’s childhood had been like. I’d said no because he never spoke to us about it, and though my mam had hinted that Dad’s upbringing had been troubled, she hadn’t really elaborated more than that. Leonora told me how his father had been a tyrant, that he abused and beat my dad almost daily. She painted a picture of the horrors he’d endured, and it felt like a dagger slicing through my heart. His struggles with drink were his way of blocking out his childhood, and … well, I guess enough time had gone by for me to finally see beyond my own hurt and empathise with my father and all he’d been through. How he’d been self-medicating all through Frances’ and my childhood. He never drove again after my accident. In fact, he never drank a single drop of alcohol after the day he came back and found me.”
“He could’ve done a million good deeds in his life,” Jonathan growled. “It still wouldn’t make up for what he did to you.”
“Yes, and I believed that for a very long time. It took two decades for me to see things differently. I saw how much he’d changed, how he spent every day trying to better himself, and all the love I’d felt for him before the accident came flooding back. I could even look at flowers again, and Dad began buying me my favourites every year on my birthday. The bouquets only made me feel happy and loved rather than reminding me of the worst day of my life. I came to understand that no matter what, he was still my father, and I wanted to forgive him because I knew he had to be living with so much regret, and I didn’t want that for him anymore. I wanted to give him peace, but I also wanted my dad back. I just thought about going through the rest of my life never seeing him again, and it was so painful I couldn’t bare it. The thought of him dying and us never—”
My words fell off when I saw the strain in Jonathan’s facial muscles. His jaw tensed, and my heart sank, realising how I misspoke. The future I’d feared going to my grave without forgiving my dad, that was Jonathan’s reality. He was still living in the turmoil, would never get the chance to tell his mother how much he truly loved her, despite everything.
I cupped his cheek. “Jonathan, I didn’t—”
He shifted back away from my touch, his features tensing. He sucked back his tears and looked out the window. “We should get back on the road.”
“Why don’t I drive the rest of the way?” I didn’t want him driving with fraught emotions, especially since I was the idiot who’d caused them.
“No. I’ll drive. This is a manual. It would put a strain on your leg.”
I climbed back into the passenger seat, and Jonathan restarted the engine. We resumed our journey, but my throat felt heavy, my heart all twisted up. There’d been something cathartic in revealing the full truth of my accident, but I regretted my words. I’d been so thoughtless in my phrasing, and I knew Jonathan had to be retreating into himself, wishing he’d done things differently with Leonora. He barely said a thing for the rest of the drive.
When we arrived back at the apartment building, he climbed from the car and began retrieving our bags from the back. I went around to join him, placing my hand to his chest to get his attention. He finally looked at me, and the torture in his gaze was enough to make my stomach sink. I’d hurt him. Inadvertently, yes, but still. My words had put him in a bad place, and I hated that I couldn’t snatch them back.
“Jonathan, talk to me. Please.” I brought my other hand up to cup his jaw, feeling it flicker beneath my palm.
His gaze softened. “I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with you. I just … my head’s a bit fucked up at the minute. I need some time to myself.”
The statement stung, and he must’ve seen me wince because his hand came up to squeeze mine where it rested on his chest. “I promise, this is my own bullshit. I lo—you’re amazing, Ada. I’m in awe of you, and I’m honoured you trusted me enough to tell me about your accident. Your strength and resilience, your ability to forgive … it floors me.”
“The situation with your mother,” I began, but as soon as the words were out, he shifted back, his touch falling away as a stark pain cut across his features.