Chapter 4

Angelica

I wasn’t able to believe the words my mom just spoke. She unexpectedly starts speaking about a man who was never discussed nor present in our lives till a while ago. I am still surprised, unable to understand why this man suddenly becomes so significant and important in our life?

I hate his recreant nature and loathe admitting him as my father. He betrayed me and my mom and left us like a prey to this cruel world without turning a leap in our thick and thin times. Why does mom still believe in him to take care of us? Why does she still love him in spite of everything he did to us? There are so many questions flooding my mind. As she was about to speak further about the crook the doorbell takes a ring.

I walk inside our tiny living room to reach the entrance. Opening our creaking front door I met the forest green eyes of a tall beardy man who was looking at me with so much affection if I was not mistaken. Something about this man feels too familiar.

He kneels down in front of me to match my height and inquiries in his polite tone, “I understand this as the house of Mrs. Margaret Evans. Can I get inside, my tiny princess?”

A slender smile was apparent on his lips. I nod my head and move aside so that he can enter the house.

He steps into our bitsy living hall and looks around the scraping walls of our old flat. His vision then directs to our almost tattered furnishings. Our living room hosted a puny bit of furniture consisting of two worn out chairs and an old time center table which was almost shackled. “Your house looks compact yet comfortable.” He comments but I did not miss the teeny bit of soreness on his voice.

I ask him to take a seat and hand him a glass of water. He sips the water in the glass and asks in his endearing voice. “Which class are you in, angel?”

So this annoying intruder even knows my name. “I am in my grade four. Now if you could stop interrogating me I can inform my mom about a guest’s arrival in our house,” I answered him in acrimony, getting irritated by his boundless nosiness.

I could see a flash of hurt in his eyes yet he complies with my statement. After I inform my mom about him he follows me to the bedroom. No sooner does he go inside my mom’s eyes glisten in happiness. To my surprise she slowly eases herself from her lying form and embraces him.

He kisses her head and looks at her with so much fondness and hurt in his eyes. I felt myself an alien in facing their intimate state. As I decide to leave the uncomfortable atmosphere, I hear my mom call me.

“Princess, come here and meet your dad Mr. Robert Evans.”

I was bewildered by my mom’s abrupt declaration and looked at her sojourner in disgruntlement. My dissatisfaction doesn’t go unnoticed by him yet he bends himself and tries to lift me in his arms with a gentle smile on his lips. Involuntarily my legs move back avoiding his touch and I observe a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. He immediately conceals it with a slim smile and extends his hand forward for a shake. My eyes shift to his hand contemplating the thoughts of accepting his invitation when I hear my mom’s voice.

“Princess, go to your dad,” she tells me in her fragile voice.

Unable to turn down my mom’s request, I extended my hand forward to hold his and repent the next moment my skin made contact with his. His hands linger in place for a moment but I was quick to avoid the feeling of bringing my hand back. A flash of discontentment was immediately visible in his green eyes but this time my mom took a grasp of it.

“Princess, I failed as a mom in connecting your dad in our life. Like I told you earlier, he loves you so much and never failed in caring for us though we were away from him. You have to amend your abhorrent feelings toward him and accept him as your father.” Her last words were commanding though she seldom uses that voice especially toward me.

So, with everything going down the hill, this vexatious interrupter had also succeeded in developing quarrels between me and my mom.

Now I not only hate my father, I averse his relation in my life.