Chapter 37 #2
She told me the cake was for later, so after we ate breakfast, we showered and got ready for the day. It’s still early, and this birthday has already been the best one I’ve ever had.
“Sit,” she orders, guiding me over to the bed.
As soon as I’m seated on the side of the mattress, she moves into our walk-in closet and comes back out with a small pile of wrapped presents in her hand.
“Open this one first,” she says, handing me the square-shaped gift.
I don’t hesitate; I tear into the wrapping like I’d expect a kid with a normal life would do on Christmas morning. It’s not something I have personal experience with, though.
As soon as I see the green box and logo on the front, my eyes snap up to her. “You bought me a fucking Rolex?”
She lifts one shoulder like it’s no big deal. It’s a big fucking deal. I flip open the box to find a gold watch inside, complete with a dark, slate-coloured dial.
“Do you like the design? I bought it from a private seller.”
“This would’ve cost you a fortune.”
“I’m a gazillionaire, remember, I can afford it.”
I take it out, admiring it for a moment before strapping it to my wrist. “I love it … thank you.”
“Open this one next.”
The second gift she passes me is larger than the first. It’s rectangular in shape and flat.
When I tear the wrapping off one corner, I see a frame. I’m expecting to find a picture of her or maybe of us inside, but that’s not what it is.
I stare down at it.
“Is this …” My voice trails off, caught somewhere between disbelief and something heavier.
She doesn’t answer. She just steps closer, brushing her hand over my damp hair like she knows exactly what this means to me.
I recognise the younger version of my mother instantly. She’s barefoot in a sundress, wild curls blowing across her face, one hand on the handlebars of a vintage motorbike, the other gripping the man beside her. And that fucking smile … I’ve never seen her smile so genuinely before.
“Is that—”
“Your Papa … yes.”
My father.
The man I’ve imagined a hundred different ways, but never actually seen.
He’s younger in the photo than I am now. He’s standing beside my mother with his arm slung casually over her shoulder, the two of them beaming like the world hasn’t caught up with them yet.
She looks carefree, but it’s the image of him I can’t look away from. There’s something reckless in his eyes, something too familiar. He looks like me … exactly like me.
I always knew I had my mother’s eyes, but there weren’t many other similarities. It’s funny the number of times I tried to conjure up images of the man who helped give me life, only to realise in this moment, I’ve been looking at him in the mirror every day.
I grip the frame tighter. My throat burns.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
She takes a seat beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I got it from your grandmother.”
Those words cause my entire body to stiffen. “You went and saw my grandmother?” I ask, the words coming out angrier than I intended.
I drop the picture on the mattress beside me and abruptly stand. My fingers knot in my hair as I start to pace.
“R-Romeo,” she stutters. “I-I—”
“That woman never wanted me,” I say, cutting her off. “She spent her entire life pretending I didn’t exist. She was never here for me, or my mother, for that matter. She disregarded us both like we meant nothing.”
“What?” she screeches, leaping to her feet. “She didn’t even know you existed until I showed up on their doorstep.”
I swing around to face her with rage vibrating through my body. “Is that what she told you? She gave my mother an ultimatum. Abort me or be disowned. And when my mother refused, they slammed the door in her face and never looked back.”
“Hold on,” she says gently, raising one of her hands. “I’m talking about your father’s mother. Your paternal grandmother.”
I rear back. “My father’s mother?”
She nods. “They didn’t know about you. They never saw your mother again after the accident. She had no idea your mum was pregnant. Not until I told her.”
And just like that, the ground I thought I was standing on starts to tilt beneath me.
Tears glisten in Lucia’s eyes as she steps forward, her fingers fisting in the front of my shirt.
“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” she whispers. “But when you told me you didn’t know anything about your father, not even where he was buried, I couldn’t let that be the end of it.”
Her voice shakes, but she keeps going.
“I started at the library. Pulled every archive I could get my hands on. You once told me your mother found out she was pregnant after the accident, so I used that to my advantage and started narrowing down the dates. I found an article about the crash, then the death notice.”
She swallows hard, searching my face.
“Bit by bit, I pieced it together. Names. Locations. Connections. And eventually, I found your grandparents.” She presses her forehead lightly to my chest, but her voice is barely audible now.
“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I did it because you deserved to know.
To have something real. Not just a mountain of unanswered questions. ”
I cup her face in my hands; her skin is warm beneath my palms as I tilt her head until our eyes meet.
“They really didn’t know about me?” I ask, my voice is rough and uneven.
Hope pulses in my chest. It’s a familiar feeling, and it’s almost too much. I learned when I was a boy that hoping only ever led to disappointment.
She shakes her head slowly. “No, they didn’t.
They cried real, genuine tears when I told them about you, not out of guilt or shock, but out of grief.
They cried because they’d missed a lifetime with you.
Because your father never got the chance to know he had a son.
” Her voice trembles as she goes on. “But most of all … they cried because there was a part of their beloved son still living and they had no idea.”
The words hit something deep, something I’ve kept buried for years.
They didn’t reject me.
They just never knew I existed.
“They were devastated?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone was mourning the loss of a life without me in it.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Completely.”
I search her eyes, needing for this to be real.
“I have all their information. Where they live. How to reach them. If or when you’re ready, they want to meet you.”
I blink, trying to absorb it all. “They do?”
She nods, her smile trembling with emotion. “They really, truly do, Romeo. They’re the sweetest people. Kind and warm. I think you’d love them.”