Father dearest, a term to describe any father loved by their children.
My father wasn't loved by his child.
I lived with my mother for all fifteen years of my life.
That was until she was killed in a car crash.
Now I don't drink, and I am apart of the club Students Against Drunk Driving. Trust me, I was very sad.
My mother's story wasn't any different than any other drunk driving accident. She was driving at night, some druggie overdosed and was driving with a bunch of his friends, blasting music, when they ran a red light and hit my mom. She was killed instantly, and the guy in the passenger seat was diagnosed with severe head trauma.
So that dude killed my mom, but there was someone left. Someone I had hoped I would never see again. That person was my dad.
When I was born my dad left my mom. He was in his early twenties, and she was only seventeen.
I'd seen my dad three or four times, and he'd always stop around for my birthdays and send me a present every Christmas, but he was married to another woman and had kids with her. It was like my own dad had restarted his life without me.
That's exactly what he did.
But I was coming back into his life whether he wanted it or not.
Since he was my only family left all custody to him and his wife, who I would never ever call Mom.
Her name was Keyanna, and she already had a son before my dad got with her. Keyanna was about twenty-three when my dad married her, and he was thirty. I always thought she was a gold digger, but my mom told me to ignore it. I didn't have to ignore it any more.
Her sons name was Jared, and he supposedly was a year older than me. My dad was his dad, or so he thought. I bet Jared wasn't old enough when my dad married his mom to recognize the difference so his mom never told him.
They also had a little girl named Marina. She was only five, and the light of my dad's life. I only hoped I could be the light of my dad's life, but I never was.
They lived in a city in the middle of nowhere by the Pacific Ocean in Washington. It wasn't by Seattle, and nowhere near Olympia. It was just a ghost town.
It was so different from New York City. I had visited my dad in Forks for a couple days every two or three years, but I never stayed with his family. It was just me and him, which sometimes creeped me out.
My life with him was going to be far different than the one with my mom.
If he even tried to be my dad I would kill him.
Or myself.
