ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ: ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ

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chapter eight: james

may, 2022
new york, usa


When James entered his home, he was greeted with hugs by all his sons. Hugs that he had missed so much from them.

Unlike James' own father, who had always been emotionally distant and cold, James' eyes always lightened up upon seeing his kids. They were light of his life, and he'd made a promise to his wife that he would always love and protect them, no matter what.

All of them.

When the twins finally let go of him, he eagerly looked around for his daughter, and the smile on his face dropped when he realised she wasn't there.

Lucas scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he answered his father's unasked question. "She's in the library," he said.

When James began for the first floor, he was instantly stopped by his sons. All of them together, as if they'd discussed this beforehand.

"I don't think seeing her alone is the best idea Dad," Nico said softly. James frowned at his tone, "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

The quiet answered his question.

"What happened," he asked again, sharply this time, making the rest flinch or step back.

When none of them answered, James nodded. "Fine. I'll ask her myself."

And this time no one dared to stop him.

-

He found her in the fiction section, skimming through their collection as he saw two other books tucked under her arm.

James took a minute to take his daughter in.

She looked so much like her mother, almost as if it was her ghost standing there looking for more fiction rather than his daughter, a daughter that was his only except in blood.

He wished her mother could be here to see how kind and smart their daughter had grown up to be.

He wished for a lot of things.

Chief among them at the moment being able to understand her, because if he would be unable to understand her, he would lose her, and James would rather die than lose his daughter forever.

"Lia," he called out. Ophelia looked up at him, not seeming particularly surprised. She acknowledged him with a nod and went back to checking the shelf.

James looked away, his heart heavy. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked to her.

"How are you doing," he asked her. She didn't bother looking at him, but she did answer him, "Absolutely fantastic."

"You don't look like you've been sleeping well," he remarked, and Ophelia stopped. She turned her head to look at her father, her eyes dark with anger.

"As if you've been here to check whether or not I've been having any sleep," she said, her voice firm and soft. James ignored the jab. "Are you okay Lia," he asked instead. "I fail to understand how that concerns you."

"I am you father."

"Says who?"

James' heart stopped.

"You? What have you done so far that makes you think you're my father? Fulfill duties like paying my school fees and checking whether I have been eating properly or not? Sebastian and Lucas do that. Taking me to my regular health check ups and assisting me with homework? Nico and the twins do that. Comforting me when I have nightmares in the dead of the night? Blake does that. What have you done, to deserve to be called my father?"

As her words escaped, she walked toward him. And as she walked toward him, he walked back, away from her, as if her words were physically hitting him, pushing him away from her.

"You're only my father because your wife is my mother."

James had been shot at, drowned, and even buried alive, but this, her words, they hurt him the most.

Because they were the truth.

What had he done to be called her father?

"You've never been here for me. When things got too difficult you ran away to God knows where and now you come back. If I even cared a little I would've asked why you were here, but I don't care. I couldn't care less. So the next time you come back after disappearing, don't expect me to even look at you."

And with that, she left.

James closed his eyes.

It was all true.

Every word she had said.

When did he become so selfish?

Why did he run? Why?

Why didn't he stay back? For his daughter. For his sons.

He didn't know the answer to that.

So he swallowed down his thoughts, and walked for the door, clearing his head as he prepared himself to meet the girl in the guest room.

The girl whose most dangerous secret he knew.

-
that escalated quickly...

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