When his wife had passed away during childbirth he had been crushed. He knew his life would never be the same. He knew she’d be hard to get over. They’d told him he might never fall in love again and that raising a daughter alone would be hard.
They were right on the second count. Raising Rheya alone the past 16 years was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. But not for the reasons they thought. Not because of the time or the money. He didn’t care about that. He’d spend all the time and money in the world on his little princess. It was hard because of the love. He hadn’t known it was possible to care that much. Every skinned knee hurt him and every middle school crush thrilled him like he’d never experienced before. It was hard work to feel so much.
And the first count they’d blown entirely. Because he had fallen in love again. Almost in the same instant he had lost his first love he found his second. Holding that small bundle of life – those 8 pounds and 4 ounces of perfection – he’d fallen in love with the green eyes and the lazy smile. With Rheya. His little ray of sunshine.
He smiled to himself. He knew the routine on days she came home angry. She would storm in and rant and throw her arms in the air in an attempt to intimidate him. He would keep his eyes on her the whole time and try to look sorry but it never worked and he always ended up grinning like an idiot because she was just so damn cute, with her red curls bouncing and her green eyes sparkling. And his smile would only make her angrier because she “was trying to have a serious conversation,” and he would have to spend the rest of the night apologizing and trying to make her laugh until she couldn’t help her self anymore and she broke down and gave him that smile that let him know he was off the hook. Then they would sit down together and talk out whatever it was she was yelling about earlier.
He loved nights like this, because even though she was mad at him, at least she was paying attention to him. Recently she’d been getting more and more distant. He knew it was normal for a 16 year old to stop needing her father, and that soon he’d have to let her go. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t stop needing her.
He set his coffee cup on the table and picked up the newspaper, partially hiding the smile that was already tugging at his lips. But tonight felt different. Because for one thing she was quiet. Normally she didn’t wait for visual contact to start her tirade. He remembered all too well the time she had come home after breaking up with her boyfriend, screaming bloody murder about how all men suck, only to find the her father in fact had company over, all of whom were male.
He pulled the newspaper higher. He had to stop thinking like this or he’d be laughing before she even entered the room.
But as soon as she got in he sobered up real quick. It wasn’t the disappointment on her face or the accusation in her eye. It was the items in her hands. She threw them down onto the table in front of him silently. There were a million unspoken questions in the air.
‘What the hell is this?’ or ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me?’ or ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’
But when she speaks, it’s not a question. It’s an accusation. “You lied to me.”
It's short, but it's just the intro. This'll only be a few chapters. Let me know if I should put any more time into it. And I realized that I never specified who 'he' is. Any thoughts? Love you to pieces (don't make me make that literal).