Strength After Him

Chapter 10 -Who is my Father

Lilian introduced them as her husband and son, and I marveled at how quickly she had built such a lovely family. Back in school, we were inseparable, best of friends, always together, and just as naughty as could be. We parted ways after high school; she went straight to college. Lilian introduced me to her husband as a “superstar,” saying she had seen my posts on i********:, but quickly pleaded for forgiveness for not being active on my page. She was in a hurry, so we couldn’t talk much. It felt right to stay in touch, then we pulled out our phones and we exchanged numbers.

When I got home, I told my mother about the park, how the swings still creaked and the grass looked just the same. Ivy, who was listening with wide eyes, said she would love to go there. I promised her we would be going soon.

The days with my mother and grandmother were truly beautiful. We caught up on old stories, their laughter filling the cozy kitchen as we shared meals together. Ms. Maria wasn’t left out. My mom seemed to have known her for years, judging by how effortlessly they chatted and laughed, like old friends reunited.

Walking into the park, memories flooded back. Lillian and I were building castles in the sand, running around playing hide-and-seek. Lillian really seemed happy now, living well with her husband.

I shook off the thought and said to Ivy, “This is where I used to run when I was your age.”

She giggled, her joy spilling out freely, uncontained and infectious. I held her hand for a moment, but the next minute she darted off, chasing someone she couldn’t wait to reach.

I thought she was going over to use the swing, only to see Ivy with a family she barely knew. The man watched closely, arms crossed. The wife stood beside him, calm but cautious. The twin girls didn’t move; they just stared, eyes wide, unsure of what to make of her.

Ivy ran into the man’s arms, and he held her steadily. She clung to him tightly, and her giggles filled the air.

I rushed over to her, calling her name loudly. “Ivy, what are you doing?”

She looked at me without answering and then turned to the man. “Please, can you be my Daddy too?” It was a shock. No one expected those words to come from her.

“No, he can’t be your daddy! He is our father, not yours. "Leave him alone!” the twins screamed.

They looked about six years old. Moving closer, they forcefully pulled Ivy’s hands from their father. Ivy collapsed to the ground, weeping. I rushed over and gathered her into my arms.

“You don’t talk to my child that way!” I yelled at them, my voice shaking with anger as I pulled Ivy closer to me.

“Is that how your daughter goes about interfering in people’s lovely moments?” the woman said, her arms crossed and eyes sharp, staring me down.

Her words hit me, but I took a deep breath and pulled myself together, refusing to fall apart.

“Be quiet,” the man said sharply to his wife, his eyes firm and commanding.

“Your kids are bullies. You need to teach them how to speak politely and be accommodating,” I said, gently lifting Ivy into my arms and leading her away.

By the time we got home, she was still crying, hiccupping between sobs, and I did everything I could to calm her down. “I’m sorry, baby. "It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, stroking her hair.

My mom glanced at her, concern etched on her face, clearly wondering why we had come home earlier than expected.

“Mom, who is my Daddy?” Ivy asked, her small voice trembling.

That question shocked me. I wondered if it was because of what happened today at the park, because Ivy had never asked me that before. Even though she often saw other kids at school with their fathers, the men around had always been kind and free with her.

My mom’s mouth fell open in shock when she heard Ivy’s question. The way Ivy asked it, her eyes steady and her tone firm, made it clear she wanted an answer right away.

I can vividly remember asking my mom the same question when I was a child. In my case, she told me my father was dead, and I stopped asking. With Ivy, it felt harder. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her her father was dead. I didn’t even know his whereabouts. It was a tough moment for me, and I shook my head slowly.

I turned to my child and knelt down, catching the worry in her eyes. “It’s okay,” I whispered softly. “One day, I’ll tell you about your father, but not today, Ivy. Please.”

She stayed silent for a while, her little face thoughtful, then finally gave a small nod.

Through the night, Ivy wasn’t herself. She tossed beneath her blanket, restless, clutching onto questions she didn’t know how to ask. I lay awake, wondering how I could give her answers I didn’t even have. The way she was treated at the park had clearly taken a toll on her. When Ivy finally fell asleep, I quietly stepped out and walked into Maria’s room, my face heavy with sadness. I was so confused.

“I couldn’t sleep… Ivy asked who her dad was this evening,” I said.

Shock spread across Maria’s face. She blinked, then asked, “What did you say?” as if she hadn’t heard me the first time. I repeated it again, clearer this time.

“What was your reply?” Maria asked.

I couldn’t say anything at first because I didn’t know what answer to give her. I just told Ivy we would talk about it later.

“That’s a good one. You don’t need to tell her the story now, it’s too early, she is just a child. But what happened? "Why did she ask this question now?” she pressed.

I narrated everything that had happened at the park. Maria’s face tightened as she listened, and she sighed softly. “Don’t let that weigh on you. You need to stay cheerful, so Ivy doesn’t notice anything wrong. Don’t let anything spoil your mood.”

She placed her hand gently on my cheek, her touch warm, and said, “Please, Ava, it’s time to sleep.” I simply nodded and left her room, heading straight to bed.

The last days with my mom were bittersweet. Ivy’s question about her father kept running through my mind, and I was growing restless to leave.

“Ivy! Ivy! Ivy!” I called out as I pushed the door gently and walked into the sitting room. All our boxes were neatly packed and arranged, waiting by the side.

It was time for us to go back to London after spending five days with my parents. Ivy really enjoyed her time with my mom and grandma. She didn’t want to leave, she wished she could stay longer.

“Ivy, we need to go. I got permission from your school for one week. "Mom needs to get back to work, same as Aunty Maria,” I said, my tone calm but firm. This was what I had to tell her before she finally agreed. Grandma also promised her that I would bring her back during the summer.

My mom warned me again, giving me a serious smile, reminding me not to forget to call them frequently.

We all hugged tightly, arms wrapped around each other as if it were the last time. The moment was silent, no one spoke, but it was filled with a heavy, lingering emotion that stayed long after we let go. Maria was waiting outside as we stepped through the door and walked toward the car, its engine humming softly in the distance. Mom approached her briefly, asking her to take care of Ivy as she always had and wishing her the best. Maria offered a quick smile before getting into the car. The goodbye was quiet. I felt a lump in my throat as I looked back, watching my mom and Grandmother wave until the car disappeared from sight.

The ride to the airport was quiet. My daughter clutched my hand tightly as we drove. We arrived and boarded our flight without a word. The plane jolted suddenly, and my seat belt dug into my waist as we dropped. Gasps echoed through the cabin. I held Ivy close, my heart racing. Maria’s seat was a little way from ours, leaving us a short distance apart.