Back In Your Arms (GM Series #4)

28

"Now, care to explain why you were with him?" He asked. We arrived home and he headed straight to our room. I followed him like what he said.

"He suddenly appeared in front of me while doing my rounds. He said he wanted to talk to me about you. I didn't expect that he's just using you to discuss the bone marrow he wants from Mari instead," I explained.

"Do you believe me now when he said that's his reason for coming to you and our daughter?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. I promise to listen now."

"You always promise to do it but do the opposite," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry," I admitted. There's no use of arguing now. "Are you still made of me?"

"No. But I'm disappointed and hurt," he said, reaching for my hand. He pulled me closer until I was already sitting on his lap. "What came in your mind to talk to him despite my reminders?"

I sighed and put my arms around his shoulders. "Do you want to hear the truth?"

"Yes. Only the truth," he nodded, looking straight to my eyes.

I looked back. "I want to know if I can do anything to fix this issue. I want to resolve it without any complications because I don't want to expose Mari to it," I began. "This is still new to her. You and everyone around her. This is a whole new world for her and I don't want this situation to cause her trauma like it did to you. I am afraid our daughter might get hurt if this continues," I admitted honestly.

"I will never let that happen. Trust me, please?"

"I trust you. But we cannot trust all the people around us," I said. "And having that conversation with your father earlier made me understand you more. I now understand your trauma. I now know where your anger is coming from."

Remembering what happened makes me realize how hard it must have been for him. He has kept all that pain in him, afraid of sharing it because people might not understand him. He must have had the hardest time dealing with it.

"It hurts me to hear what he said. I also realized that he's really only concerned with his other child and doesn't care of what others might feel towards his actions—what might we feel," I continued. "During that whole conversation, he never called you his son. He didn't even call you by your name. I don't know if he can't or he just doesn't want to." I reached for his cheek and caressed it.

"He doesn't want to because he doesn't care about me. For him, I'm just a thing he can use to save his daughter's life," he said and hearing it coming from him hurts more.

"He doesn't see you as you are. He thinks of you as a kid. A random kid he cares less," I added. My eyes started to water. "I couldn't get myself to understand any other possible reasons for a parent to treat his own child like that. You are his child too. Why can't that sink in to him?"

"For him, I was never his child," Aydan simply answered.

It's just a sentence. It was just a short answer but full of emotions. I knew it still hurts him. I knew where his trauma started; where his fear of abandonment and being enough started.

It all started with him—his father.

I can't help but cry. I was hurting for him, for knowing all of his pain. "You should have told me about this long before," I told him.

"I don't want to burden you with my problems," he said, caging me to his arms.

I shook my head. "I was your best friend before I became your girlfriend, fiancé, and wife. You can always tell me what bothers, upsets, agers, and hurts you. You can always show me your real emotions. I am your wife now, Aydan, you don't have to feel that you can't share anything with me."