tom riddle imagines

25: baby daddy been knew

pov: tom finds out a secret tumour you've been keeping from him for a few years.

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"Mama," she gleamed, her little feet rushing towards you. "Look what I got you!"

You eyed the makeshift wand in your daughter's grasp, flailing it in the air as though a spell were to be casted. Her gleaming eyes shone with the same magical sparkle as her father's once did. The corner of your lips crinkled your cheek as you watched her embrace magic. She faltered back and forth, shooting vain spells on passersby, enchanting from them various looks of amusement and adoration. Your laughter, tickling your throat with a nervous tremor, echoed through the air as your daughter continued her magic-wielding display. Finally, you tugged her to the side and aligned her arms to her sides.

"Honey, I'm not taking your wand," you reassured with your hands caressing her soft cheeks, "but we do need to go."

She gaped at you, doe-eyed. Her father's blues swirling in your sea of [your eye colour] was her window to the world. A filter of innocence yet to be broken. You bathed your daughter with enough love that ensured no inherited poison had a host to infect. With every white lie, you filled the parental hole in her life and uplifted her father's name, placing him on a pedestal with a different name and a different life – only the love you shared with him remained unaltered.

Your fingers ran through her coils of burgundy that fell to her shoulders, smoothening unruly strands. Her lips fell into a frown.

"What's wrong, baby?" you asked, mimicking her expression.

Her gaze drifted from you and into the store, her fingers subtly pointing inside. "I wanna see the man one more time."

"What man?" Breaths turned to heaves.

"The man who gave me this wand."

Your eyes narrowed as you peered through the window. The shoppers inside were sparse, but it was difficult to pinpoint who exactly could have gifted her a wand. A tremulous sigh shot out of your nose as you guided your girl into the shop. "Point the man to me."

Her arm elevated as she scanned the room hastily, her pigtails flailing in all directions. Then, for a moment, she paused. Her lips almost immediately curled up in excitement when she caught the sight of the stranger. Her hand flew up and pointed at a tall figure, engulfed in a leather coat. A hat sat atop him. His back crouched with his gaze dwelling on the countertop's figurines.

With maternal fervour burning within your chest, you guided your daughter's clasped hand, weaving through the crowd until you stood face to face with the source of her intrigue. Your gaze hardened, like a shield forged to protect her innocence. Clearing your throat, you mustered your courage and tapped on the man's shoulder, his frame stiffening as your words rang clear through the air, "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother my daughter with- "

Words tumbled from your lips like a landslide, battering the air around you as the stranger remained stubbornly obstinate in his ignorance. Your finger dug into his shoulder with more determination, effectively grabbing his attention. He finally turned around, his cold eyes meeting yours as the quiet tension between you thickened. In that instant, recognition dawned upon you like a flash of lightning in the midst of darkness, for standing before you was a face you had known, etched deep within your memory. A face that dwelled the halls of your school. The face that cultivated inside of you. The face you put to bed and kiss goodnight when the moon rises. That same face stood six feet tall, towering over you like a monument of your own history.

Her jubilant laughter filled the air, a chorus of delight, as she dashed towards him, her tiny limbs propelling her forward. "That's him!" she exclaimed, a beacon of innocent joy as she embraced the only part of him that she could reach, her arms encircling his legs in a warm, endearing hug.

"Tom," you murmured in a trance. Your grasp on your daughter loosened. Your attention diverted. Your heart stopped.

"Y/N."

"You know my mama?" she squeaked.

"That I do, darling."

Your lips trembled with uncertainty as questions lingered on the tip of your tongue. Each attempt to speak felt like pushing against a barrier, the words caught in the depths of your throat, struggling to find their way out. His eyes trailed from your daughter to your interlocked fingers, then slowly scanned your figure. His gaze rose, absorbing every inch of you as if the world were ending, before finally meeting your eyes. A sting of betrayal smouldered in his narrowed eyes. He stood there, cold and stagnant. A speck of dust snuck beneath your daughter's nose, sending her into a sneeze. You crouched down, pulling tissues from your handbag, and caught a tremor running down her father's spine.

"I need..." he muttered; his voice shaken. "To talk to you. I need to talk to your mama alone, baby girl."

Your daughter lifted her head to her father, inquisition glistening in her eyes. "What did mama do?"

"Nothing. Didn't you want to see the back section?"

"Yes!" she gleamed with excitement before dashing into the crowd of children at the back of the store.

His gaze, once filled with adoration and tenderness for his baby, turned cold as his attention shifted towards you. The weight of betrayal, a silent, insidious infection, spread throughout his body like a cancerous tumour. His fists clenched tightly, quelling the urge to lash out, as his sadness and disapproval manifested in a contorted frown, concealed behind the walls of his stifled composure. His gentle demeanour, shattered like a fragile glass, lay shattered at your feet.

"You're sick."

"Tom, I had no choice," you pleaded, your words flowing out like the tears that streamed down your face when you first found out.

"I have faced many betrayals in my life, but none cut as deeply as this. You hid my daughter from me, her existence concealed in shadows while I remained ignorant. Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Let's not forget the path you chose. I couldn't raise my baby in such a poisonous environment, with a father consumed by his own megalomania."

"You had no right to withhold this information from me. She is my daughter too. I deserved to know."

"Tom..."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he gritted through his teeth, rage seething.

"You fucked up – you. Don't you put this on me. You could barely keep our relationship alive. I don't know how you've changed now, but whoever I knew that day I found out was not human. You cannot blame me for doing what was right."

"A daughter... could've changed things," he whispered under his breath.

"I couldn't, much less my baby."

"Our baby."

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