Brought By Destiny

Chapter 6

Shadows of the Past

Lilly’s POV:

After lunch, we returned to the sofa to watch Spider-Man. It’s Ryan’s favorite, and he had insisted that Michael put it on. Before the movie started, Michael handed me another one of his mother’s nightgowns and suggested I take a shower.

I agreed instantly; the hot water felt like a small mercy against my aching skin.

As the movie played, the tension in the room began to soften. Halfway through the film, Ryan’s eyes grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep, curled up comfortably on Michael’s lap.

"If you don't mind, can I ask you a question?" I asked, looking at him curiously.

He nodded slightly, though his eyes remained glued to the TV. One of his hands stroked Ryan’s hair with rhythmic gentleness, while the other tapped the remote against his knee.

I took a deep breath, the question burning in my mind. "Why didn't your girlfriend show up yesterday?"

Michael stiffened instantly. A flash of raw hurt flickered through his dark brown eyes, and his grip tightened on the remote until his knuckles turned white.
I immediately regretted the words.

I shouldn't have pried into his wounds.
"It's okay if you—" I started, trying to retract the question.

"We broke up," he said, his voice harsh and clipped.

"What? But you were about to—"

"I found her in her house," he interrupted, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and betrayal.
"She was with our boss in bed."

He closed his eyes tight, but he couldn't hide the agony etched on his face. My heart went out to him. Without thinking, I placed my hand over his. He slowly loosened his grip on the remote and looked at me, offering a weak, grateful smile. I smiled back, hoping to offer some small comfort.

"You haven't told me about last night yet," he said quietly, reaching over to click the TV off. The silence that followed was heavy.

I withdrew my hand and let out a long, ragged sigh. It was time to speak the truth.

"My sister, Raya, was fifteen and I was twenty-two when Anthony forced us to stop our education,"
I began. "He was cruel, even to his own flesh and blood. He sold our childhood home to fund his own needs. He took drugs, did illegal jobs, he had turned into a monster. Raya and I lived in constant terror. He would beat us daily and lock us in a room for days without a drop of water or a crumb of food."

I swallowed hard, the memories threatening to choke me. "He told me that if I didn't work, he wouldn't feed us. So, I worked. I slaved away at that café all day just to keep Raya safe. She was always alone at home while I was gone. One day, I came home earlier than usual."

I closed my eyes, gulping back the bile. "When I walked in, I saw the shoe rack had been kicked over. The hallway was a mess. I ran into the living room; everything was shattered and scattered. Panic took over. I raced upstairs to find my sister."

I took a shaky breath and continued. "I burst into her room. It was trashed. Then I saw her. She was huddled in the corner, her legs pulled tightly to her chest, her head down, trying to disappear. I knelt beside her and touched her shoulder."

"'Raya,' I whispered."

"She looked up, and Michael... her face was horrifying. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose was bleeding, and her lips were cracked. She looked pale, almost blue. Her clothes were torn to shreds. She was wearing nothing but a ripped top."

The tears began to fall now, echoing the pain of that day. "She collapsed into my arms and sobbed. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her while my own world fell apart. I kissed her forehead and whispered, 'Who did this?'"

"She pulled back, looking completely devastated. 'Dad’s friends,' she whispered."

"I was shocked to my core. She hugged me again, sobbing out the truth. 'Dad took money from them... he couldn't pay it back. He told them they could use me as payment.'"

I looked at Michael, my voice trembling with rage. "How could a father do that to his own daughter? I was beyond angry; I was finished.
I cleaned her up, fed her, and put her to bed. Then, I waited. When I heard the front door open, I ran down to the hallway. He was stumbling, drunk as always."

"‘Anthony, I need to talk to you!’
I said boldly. I couldn't call him 'Dad' anymore. He didn't deserve the title."
He walked right up to me. I backed away until I hit the wall. He smelled of rot and strong alcohol.

"What is it, you bitch?" he sneered, spitting in my face."

"‘What did you do to Raya?’
I demanded, staring into his glazed eyes.

He let out an evil smirk. "So you found out?" he asked, trailing his filthy hand down my face. I pushed him away, making him stumble.

"How could you? She’s your daughter!' I screamed.

He just laughed. "You want to know how I did it?" he asked, lunging for me. I turned to run, but he caught my wrist and yanked me back.

He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried me into his room. I fought, I hit him, I screamed, but it was useless. He dropped me on the bed and pinned my hands above my head.

I looked at Michael, the shame and pain radiating from me. "‘Anthony, please don't, I beg of you!’ I cried. But he didn't stop. That night, he took my innocence. And it didn't end there. It happened every night. Sometimes he even brought his friends. I couldn't fight back... that was the worst part. He used both of his daughters for whatever he wanted."

I took a long, shuddering breath before the final part of the story.

"One day, Raya fell ill. I took her to the hospital and found out she was pregnant. I was terrified. She was too young for the risks of childbirth, but she was also too fragile for an abortion. She decided to keep the baby. I didn't tell Anthony. I sent her to stay with my friend, Jazz. I told Anthony she had run away with a boyfriend. He searched for her at first, but eventually, he gave up.
But he took his rage out on me. He beat me until I couldn't walk or even open my eyes. He called seven of his friends that night, and they... they used me like a toy."

"Nine months later, I got a call from Jazz. She gave me the most beautiful and most horrible news of my life. She said Raya had given birth to a handsome little boy... but she didn't survive the labor. I couldn't even go to her funeral. Jazz and her family handled everything."

I looked down at the sleeping boy in Michael’s lap. "I felt like my heart had stopped beating. A few months later, Jazz moved into the house next to ours just so I could see my nephew. She has three girls, so they raised him like their own son.
I visited him every day. He started to recognize me, smiling whenever I kissed his cheek. He smiles exactly like Raya did. That’s why I named him Ryan."

I closed my eyes, the weight of the confession finally lifting. When I opened them and turned to Michael, I saw tears streaming down his face. He looked completely shattered by what he had heard.