Chapter 1:The Lost Father
879 Words
“That’s all for today,” the teacher’s voice echoed across the classroom, signaling the end of the lesson.
Marc didn’t wait a second longer. As soon as the words left the teacher’s lips, he jumped to his feet and rushed toward the door. His sneakers slapped against the tile floor, matching the rapid beat of his heart. He had to leave—now.
Marc finally made it to the gym. The crowd inside made it hard to see, but he pushed through, looking for his friend, Sephie.
“Marc!”
He turned toward the sound of his name and saw her waving from across the room. Relief flooded him as he hurried toward her.
“Sephie!” he called, weaving through the crowd. “Is he here?”
Sephie nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling. She handed him a banner with Keith’s face on it, the star basketball player of their university. “Yeah! He’s about to do an interview over there!”
Marc grinned. “Finally,” he said, already feeling the rush of excitement. “This is gonna be amazing.”
Moments later, Keith stepped into the interview area. The crowd erupted into cheers, chanting his name. Marc’s heart raced. He couldn’t help but join in, his voice blending with the chorus of excited fans shouting, “Keith! Keith! Keith!”
The energy in the gym was electric. Marc felt alive in a way he never had before. The man he’d been following for months, the one whose posters decorated his bedroom, was right there—just a few feet away. It was unreal.
When the event wrapped up, Marc and Sephie decided to grab a bite at a local restaurant.
Over dinner, they couldn’t stop talking about Keith—how Marc had first heard about him, the games he’d watched, and every little detail he could remember. Sephie listened, asking questions about Keith’s career and Marc’s fandom.
“That was insane,” Sephie said, grinning. “I can’t believe we actually saw him!”
Marc smiled, feeling a sense of pride. “Yeah, it was crazy. I’ve been a fan for so long.”
His phone vibrated. He glanced down.
A message from his mom.
Come home early. Now.
Marc’s smile faded. His mom never sent messages like that.
“Sephie, I should probably head home. Mom’s looking for me,” he said, standing up.
“Seriously? You’re not gonna finish your food? You know kids in Africa are starving, right?” Sephie teased, grinning at him.
Without thinking, Marc quickly gulped down the rest of his food.
“Slow down, will you?” Sephie said, raising an eyebrow.
“Nope,” Marc said, his mouth full. “Mom doesn’t text me unless it’s an emergency.”
After Marc finished eating, they left the restaurant together. Since they were both headed in the same direction, Marc offered to walk Sephie home.
“Thanks, Marc,” Sephie said as they reached her street. “See you tomorrow!”
Marc smiled. “Yeah, see you!” He waved goodbye and continued walking toward his house. It was just two blocks away, so it wasn’t a big deal.
When he got home, Marc stepped through the front door. The familiar smell of his mom’s cooking should’ve been comforting, but something felt off. The house was unusually quiet—no sounds of his mom humming in the kitchen, no TV in the background.
That’s strange, he thought. He froze when he saw a man standing in the living room.
The man was tall, sharply dressed in a high-class suit that screamed wealth and authority. He stood tall and confident, like someone used to being in charge.
Marc’s grip on the strap of his bag tightened as he took a step back. The man standing in their living room looked completely out of place—tall, refined, and dressed in an expensive suit that screamed wealth and authority. His sharp features remained unreadable, but his piercing gaze held something that made Marc’s stomach twist.
“Who are you?” Marc asked, his voice taut with unease.
The man didn’t move, didn’t even blink. His presence alone filled the space with an unfamiliar tension.
“Marc?” The man’s voice was calm, but there was something in it—something unsettling.
Marc frowned, a creeping sense of dread washing over him. Without another word, he turned toward the kitchen, ready to call for his mom. But before he could take another step, Rudelyn emerged from the doorway, her expression unreadable.
“Marc, you’re home,” she said, her voice careful. She looked between him and the stranger. “Have a seat. Both of you.”
Marc hesitated, his pulse drumming in his ears.
Rudelyn inhaled deeply before finally speaking. “Marc, this is Manuel Santos… my college friend.” She paused, her hands clasping together as if bracing herself. “Your father.”
Marc felt the world tilt beneath him. His breath hitched. His father? The father who had never once tried to find him? The father who had abandoned them?
His gaze snapped back to the man—Manuel Santos. He didn’t look apologetic. He didn’t look happy. He just stood there, unreadable, waiting.
Marc clenched his fists, his mind racing.
- Writer
