Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad novel Chapter 42

Willingly, I follow Jerome and my other guard out of the room and into the hall. The three of us scurry towards the door, guilt roiling in me to be the cause of so much strife. Before I step out the door, though, I hear a little voice call out behind me.

“Wait!” it says.

I turn to see Romulus running down the stairs, a little book in his hands. He dashes to meet me at the door. “I found this in my closet!” he says, “a long time ago!” He holds up the book to me and I can see that it’s a very small photo album. I take it from him gently and flip it open, shocked to see that it’s images of my mother’s wedding day –

And, oh my god – that I’m in them –

“That’s you, right?” Romulus says, peeking at the pages of the book, pointing at the picture of my mother.

“No,” I say softly. “That was my mom. Thank you for showing it to me, Romulus,” I say, looking down at him gratefully. I push it back towards him, as the noise escalates in the next room. I hope that some day I’ll be able to look through it more closely, but now, it definitely seems like time to go -

“No, I you can keep it,” Romulus says, smiling up at me. “And maybe, when you come back, you can bring me a present.” He gives me a big smile and I can’t stop myself from laughing.

“A fair trade,” I say and then jerk up, suddenly, at a crash I hear from the sitting room.

“You’d better go,” he says, nodding at me.

“Will you be okay?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Sure,” he says, grinning at me with confidence. “This happens all the time.”

“Miss,” one of my guards says, again tugging at my arm.

“Okay,” I say, following my guard. “It was nice meeting you!” I call back to – wow, to my little brother.

“You too!” he says, waving to me as I go.

As I sit in the car on the way home, I clutch the photo album in my hands, not yet ready to open and explore it. What the hell was I going to find inside?

When I’m alone in my room, I sit on my bed and page through the album. It’s shocking to me, how much is familiar and how much is a mystery.

I’m just a toddler in the pictures, so I guess it makes sense that I don’t remember any of it, but even at a glance I can tell how precious I was to my father on this day. He had me standing at the altar with him as he said his vows to my mother, a hand on my little shoulder as I looked out to the crowd.

Then, there’s another photo of their first dance with me crying, my arms wrapped around his leg, unwilling to let go. Both of my parents are laughing in that one, pleased, I can see, by my attachment to them – to him.

Then another, with my father feeding me a piece of wedding cake, laughing as I get icing all over my face. My heart sinks as I bear witness to the love on his face on that day, his happiness at being able to share it with the woman he loved as well as his child.

I suppose it really was a love match, then - my father and my mother. They had me first and, even though he could have just pushed her aside for someone else, he had married her, recognized me officially as his daughter.

My lips begin to tremble as I look through picture after picture of my parents’ joy, their love for me, and I feel incredible shame that I don’t remember any of it –

What must it have been like, just a few weeks ago, for my father to walk into that room to see me again – his little girl – and see that I had no idea who he was? That I had completely forgotten him?