Free That One Day (That One #1.5) by Josie Wright

my eyes. Ron teaching me how to ride a bike, tucking me in at night, and sleeping next to me when I was sick or scared, helping me with my homework or with building a bookcase for Mom. It’s stupid though. There’s no reason for me to feel guilty. He lied to me all my life, pretended to be someone he’s not. He stole those memories from my real father.
    I feel like a wimp because I’m scared of what comes next. But fuck, I’m petrified. The same question circles my mind on repeat. What if my father doesn’t want me? I’m not sure I could recover from that blow.
    The nurse leads me into a huge sun-lit room. There are tables with chairs and what looks like families sitting together visiting. There are couches and armchairs, as well as book cases lining the wall. Only at second glance do I realize that the furniture is bolted to either the ground or the wall. That’s fucking cozy.
    The nurse points at a man sitting on a couch, seemingly engrossed in a book. We make our way over, and I study him. He certainly doesn’t look like I expected, nothing like I thought a man who’s locked away in a mental hospital should look. He’s got short salt and pepper hair. He looks quite dapper in jeans and a white shirt. He’s sitting up straight, yet he seems relaxed, his right foot resting on his left thigh. I take a deep breath when the nurse addresses him.
    “Mr. Andrews, your son is here to see you.”
    I swallow, trying to keep the bile from rising.
    My father closes the book and looks up slowly, his face not betraying any kind of emotion, but then I can see his lip tremble. He swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple moving with the motion. He stands up and steps toward me.
    His arms come around my shoulders, drawing me closer as he pats my back. “Son.”
    He’s shaking slightly and I wonder if he’s crying. I put my arms around him and hug him back, but I’m incapable of any other reaction. I don’t know what I was expecting. Some kind of eureka moment, an instant connection. Maybe a feeling of belonging.
    This is my father, but he’s also a stranger.
    His shoulders are still shaking when he pulls away and says, “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” I look at his face and see a broken man, and I can’t help but wonder what happened to him.
    “Let’s sit.” He points to the couch and I take a seat, shooting glances at the orderlies standing around the room, watching us and the others.
    “Just ignore them. They are here for the crazies, not us.”
    His matter-of-fact remark makes me snort. He lifts an eyebrow while looking at me, but then seems to guess my train of thought.
    “I’m not crazy, just depressed. Not like them over there.” He nods his head to one of the patients who starts ripping pages out of a book before the orderlies intervene. I turn my head, not eager to witness someone else’s breakdown. I look at my father and find him studying me.
    “I would recognize you anywhere, Son. Anywhere.” He pats my hand resting at my side. “So how come you’re here after all these years?” There is a hint of accusation in his tone.
    I exhale loudly. “I received a letter out of nowhere from a local lawyer, informing me your mom left me the house. I…I didn’t know anything about her or you. I…Mom…she never told me you’re my father.”
    Hesitantly, I look up at my father and for just a moment something about the look in his eyes feels off. Anger, loathing, I’m not sure what. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. This man is here because of a mental illness after all. It’s to be expected that his reactions might be a bit off.
    “Judith never told you about me? She never told you I’m your father?” His voice is shaking, his eyes wide with disbelief.
    “No, I only found out through the letter. She lied to me.”
    He slumps forward cradling his face in his hands. “I can’t believe she’d hate me so much. What have I ever done to her?”