41 - Between Roses and Bullet Holes.

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I stepped out of the room for some air, trying to shake off the wave of nausea hitting me

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I stepped out of the room for some air, trying to shake off the wave of nausea hitting me. Morning sickness decided to make its grand entrance now, and I just didn't have the bandwidth to deal with it. Today wasn't about me, it was about being there for my friend on her big day.

My dad followed me out, his eyes full of concern. He'd clearly noticed something was off, no matter how hard I tried to play it cool around him and Melinda.

"Estás ben, querida? (Are you okay, darling?)" he asked, his voice gentle.

I gave him a weak smile—one of those that you hope looks convincing but never quite does. I couldn't trust myself to speak. My voice would break, and then the tears would come. And this was my father—the first man I ever loved, the one I trusted with every part of me.

I wanted to throw myself into his arms, cry until I couldn't breathe, and tell him everything. That I was pregnant. That he was going to be a grandpa. That I should be happy about it, but I wasn't—because the man I loved was about to leave me.

There was so much I wished for right now, things I couldn't have. So I swallowed it all down, plastered on my best "I'm fine" face, and focused on being the friend Melinda needed and deserved.

"Estou ben, papá, (I'm okay)" I said, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Alégrome moito de que esteas aquí polo meu amigo. Significa moito para ela e para min. (I'm so glad you're here for my friend. It means a lot to her and to me.)"

My father stepped closer, his big, warm hands cupping my face and forcing me to meet his eyes. And I did, putting every ounce of strength I had into holding his gaze.

"Sabes que non tiven a oportunidade de verte cun vestido de noiva, miña princesa. Pero aínda estaría aquí para ti, como poida, (you know I didn't get a chance to see you in a wedding dress, my princess. But I'd still be here for you, however I can)" he said gently.

His words hit me harder than I could take, and the tears I'd been holding back finally broke through. I couldn't stop them.

"I'm so sorry, Papa," I sobbed, the words spilling out, even though they didn't feel like enough.

I could tell him the truth now, about the rushed wedding with Alessandro, but I couldn't bring myself to. The thought of my dad hating him—or worse, hunting him down—kept my mouth shut. And yet, it killed me that he still thought I'd excluded him from my wedding on purpose, that I didn't need him or want him there.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me against his chest like he was shielding me from the world. And God, I needed it more than I realized.

"Don't you ever apologize to me again, amor (love)," he murmured, his voice soft as he pressed his face into my hair, breathing me in. "I'm proud of the woman you've become, and I know your mother is proud too, watching you from above. It's true I didn't get to see you marry, but I'm here to see your happiness now, with people who love you."

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵Where stories live. Discover now