CADEN

That same day, after Mad had returned, freshly showered and dressed in a pink loose-knit sweater, she had my leg on her thighs, massaging tenderly.

Martha, on the other hand, was informing us about my progress, believing I might be discharged soon.

She babbled about transferring schools, mentioned the possibility of moving back, and even entertained the idea of seeking vengeance on whoever was responsible. Somehow, I believed she might mean it.

Martha is a nice person; Mad is lucky to have her as a mother.

My mother, if alive, must have probably forgotten about me, let alone know I was on a hospital bed right now.

But with these two women around, I was at ease and even grateful for life. Then, Dad chose to butcher the harmony in the space and walked in, ceasing the happiness in my space once again.

He advanced into the room, hands in his jean pockets, seeming timid, like how I'd act back at home when he would sit across the living room, watching basketball all by himself.

The moment he walked in, Mad stood from the bed and stopped beside me. Her hand came to my back, stroking up and down, tenderly.

I'd lost control if not for her presence; she was all I needed. She was my happy place, my comfort, my ease.

"Son!" He started, and I wondered who else was out there.

"Jude, not now," Martha warned him, but he seemed to ignore her. She was standing by the window, next to several pots of plants I'd received from guests I don't even know, but the nurses had delivered anyway.

"How are you?" He went on when I didn't respond.

You can do it! Stay bold. I mentally encouraged myself.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

A confused expression appeared on his face; he fidgeted slightly before blurting: "You got shot, why wouldn't I be here?"

Whoa!

"News to my ears. Since when do you care?" I bluntly remarked.

With that, Martha beckoned at Mad. "We will give you two some space," she suggested.

Automatically, my hand clasped Mad's. I found her poignant gaze, hoping she understood I didn't want her to leave.

"D-Don't leave me with this monster," I sharply stated, glancing at the man across the room, acting all saint right now.

In my throat, a large lump refused to wash down.

"I am your father. I care about you since birth, certainly."

"Liar." I barked at him, prompting Martha's hands over her eyes, and Mad's over my back.

"Caden..." He started a step toward me.

I jerked up from the bed, eyes dilated, trying to process his spontaneous action. "Don't come near me!" I warned.

"Okay. I can stand here." He surrendered, hands in the air. His eyes rapidly blinked. "Is it okay?" He asked, referring to the space between us.

"It will be when you get out," I demanded.

I was aware of his presence ever since yesterday, but I never thought it would feel like this seeing him in person.

The last time I saw him, he was hitting me, calling me a devil, blaming me for his messed up life, throwing my bag outside his house, the place I grew up.

I hate him. I never liked him, but I never felt this bitterly cold about it. Until now!

I don't even understand why he's here.

"I am sorry, son!" His voice was low, his breathing loud.

I don't believe it. Dad's an egotistic person; he wasn't the kind of man who ever regrets.

"Okay! Is this a joke to you?" I exhaled a painful laugh. The bile in my throat broke, spreading bitterness at every angle in my mouth. "Well, I know this is your most prosperous moment, but at least you have been here for days. Didn't you laugh enough? Why not just go back to your house and live a wonderful life? I won't bother to stop by or call the landline. Just go, Dad." I demanded, trying to hold a challenging stare while having a distressing vision, and my insides were nothing but fragile.

"You think that's what I want?" He yelled back, causing every hair on my body to rise.

I could feel the burns in the back of my eyes, but I wasn't going to let my dad see my weakness.

"What I need is my son." He took another step; this time I couldn't stop him, knowing the moment I dare speak out, I could let down my walls.

Crying is not something I usually do. Not in front of my parents, not even in an empty room, I just couldn't betray myself.

"And I don't care you don't believe me, but Caden, you are my son, and I love you more than anything in this world."

Shut the fuck up.

"Liar," I called again, struggling with my harsh breath.

"I've always loved you since before your birth; you are the child I always wanted. A son! But I let my past corrupted my dream, and it polluted the love I could've given to you. I understand now." He bit his lips, a tear slipping down his eyes.

He's lying! He never wanted me. He preferred Cara, he preferred Mom, he preferred Martha, he preferred Mad. And I am the outcast.

"Liar." My voice deceived me, stuck in my throat; I almost choked.

"My only regret is pushing you away when Cara died, ignoring you when your mother left, and refusing you when Martha and Maddie joined us. Right there, you were my reflection, reliving everything, and I let it happen. I was scared to approach you, much less help stop it," he said, exhaling a sob and wiping his eyes.

In that moment, my dad was crying, confessing his sins in front of the entire family. Ironic.

When I finally found my voice, I shook my head, making it clear for him, because he seemed to misunderstand something: "I am nothing like you! I won't choose among my children. I wouldn't blame them for my mistakes, hate my own blood, deny my own child, or let anyone abuse them. I wouldn't kick them out. I wouldn't hit them, consciously."

"I messed up. Now I know I messed up," he wept.

"Liar."

A part of me knows he meant it; I just wasn't ready to accept that the strong one could break.

"You are hurting because of how your parents treated you... Look how far it got you, to a hospital bed. Almost dead," he waved around.

"You can blame yourself for that," I spat at him.

"And I take the blame. All the blame. Caden."

"Good! Baby steps, huh?" I exhaled a painful laugh that scratched a wound in my chest. "That's nonsense in the 'you-shouldn't-have-a-child-if-you-will-despise-them' page of both modern and old-fashioned parental books."

"Look son, I am not perfect, I am a messed-up parent, okay? I know I made mistakes," he exasperatedly accepted.

Good!

"Including marrying a con artist who left her family behind," I sarcastically threw at him, hoping he would just leave, as I knew I was gradually breaking down inside.

"You shouldn't hate your mother," he quietly said.

My blurred gaze widened at him.

What? He really doesn't see her flaws? Even a little? She drowned me for heaven's sake. She left because she's a coward; she couldn't stand when things got really bad.

"Oh, I should, I should report her for being an abusive parent!" I yelled.

I felt Mad startled at the outburst, and I'm sorry for that, but the memories of mom shoving me to the bottom of the filled bathtub had occupied my vision, and I couldn't shake it off. I wanted to scream.

"But you know what? I can't... I can't hate her after all the trauma she left me in. Maybe it's because I was living with a much worse monster, and I thought her bite was incapacitated," I breathed out, swallowing hard.

"I want to make it up to you. From today forth, I want to make it up to you," he pleaded.

Can't he understand? I need him to leave! I need to breathe.

"I don't need your apology."

"But I need it. Or else I can't forgive myself," he refused, his eyes pleading.

"Liar," I shouted.

He doesn't care. I kept telling myself. He is the man who hated me for nearly nineteen years.

"I had abusive parents too... Okay?" He said equally as loud, and the room suddenly became extremely quiet. It was like everyone's breathing had ceased, just like mine.

I watched him with unbelievable eyes and a thumping heart.

"Breaking news, my biological father hit me several times a day since the age of four. Then I got a stepfather who was a child molester, and I had to live with him for years after my mother died. He abused me in ways I can't erase from my memories."

What the actual fuck?