His Lovable Klutz (Completed)

Segment Twenty-six.

♥ Not As I Remembered ♥
♥ II ♥

      Stefan pulled up to a modest house, its white exterior well-maintained, with a wraparound porch adorned with potted plants and a wooden swing gently swaying in the breeze.

      The house had a warmth to it, a sense of history and care that made it feel welcoming. Stefan parked his car at the curb and took a moment to steady himself before stepping out and walking toward the front door.

      He rang the doorbell, the chime echoing softly inside. After a few moments, the door opened, revealing an elderly African-American woman. She had a kind face framed by long, silver-streaked locks that fell gracefully over her shoulders. Her caramel skin glowed with a healthy sheen, and her brown eyes sparkled with a wisdom that came from years of experience. She was dressed simply in a white crew neck shirt, blue denim jeans, and comfortable indoor slippers.

      She smiled warmly at Stefan, her expression one of genuine kindness. "You must be Stefan," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm LaToya Donovan. Please, come in."

      Stefan nodded, returning her smile with one of his own, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He followed her inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere of her home. The living room was small but well-appointed, with plush armchairs, a soft beige sofa, and a wooden coffee table that held a stack of books and a small vase of fresh flowers. The walls were lined with family photos and framed art, giving the space a personal, lived-in feel.

      LaToya led him to the sofa and gestured for him to sit. "Would you like some coffee?" she offered.

      "Yes, please," Stefan replied, his voice polite.

      LaToya disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with two mugs of steaming coffee. She handed one to Stefan before settling into an armchair opposite him, cradling her own mug in her hands.

      As they sat in silence for a brief moment, LaToya broke the ice. "You've grown into a fine young man, Stefan. Greg would be proud. He raised you well, a true gentleman."

      Stefan nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Thank you, Mrs. Donovan. I appreciate that." He paused, setting his mug down on the table. "I... I need to know the truth about my father. Amanda Reynolds said he was an addict. Is that true?"

      LaToya's expression softened with understanding. She took a deep breath before answering. "Yes, Stefan, it's true. Your father, Greg, was not just a friend to me, but also a patient. He struggled with addiction for many years. It was a genetic predisposition—something that he couldn't fully control. He fought it, but the battle was never easy."

      She leaned forward slightly, her eyes holding Stefan's as she spoke. "Your father came to me once, confiding that he felt like he had messed up, that he had failed both your mother and you. He was ashamed, Stefan. He loved you both deeply, but the addiction... it consumed him. Your mother, Amanda, tried everything she could to get him the help he needed. But when she saw no improvement, she felt that threatening divorce was the only way to shock him into change."

      Stefan's hands tightened around his mug, his knuckles turning white. "It's hard to believe... Amanda never told me. Not until now."

      LaToya watched him carefully, noting the disbelief in his eyes. "I understand this is difficult, Stefan. But there's something I think you need to see."

      She rose from her chair and left the room, returning a moment later with a worn leather case file. She handed it to Stefan.

      The file was thick, the leather cracked and weathered from years of handling. Stefan opened it, revealing a series of documents—medical records, therapy notes, and reports detailing Greg Reynolds' battle with opioid addiction. The records chronicled years of struggle, with entries describing failed attempts at rehab, relapses, and moments of despair.

      Stefan stared down at the documents, his mind reeling as he absorbed the truth. His father's addiction wasn't just a rumor or a distant memory—it was documented, real, and undeniable. He felt a surge of emotion rising in his chest, threatening to spill over, but he forced it down, blinking back the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. Anger simmered beneath the surface, directed at himself for doubting Amanda's words.

      LaToya watched him closely, her voice soft but firm. "Greg was a good man, Stefan, but he was flawed, like all of us. He didn't want you to see him differently, which is why your mother kept it from you. She was protecting you, in her own way."

      Stefan closed the file and looked up at her, his voice strained. "If it was a genetic predisposition... how come I'm not an addict too?"

      LaToya smiled gently, a knowing look in her eyes. "Only Amanda can answer that, Stefan. There are things that only a mother knows about her child."

      Stefan nodded slowly, processing her words. The truth was now clear, but it only left him with more questions—questions that only his mother could answer. He glanced down at the file once more, feeling the weight of his father's struggles in his hands, and the impact they had on his own life.

      For the first time, he realized how little he truly knew about the man who had raised him. And that realization left him feeling both saddened and enlightened.

      Coby lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the morning's confrontation with Stefan over and over in her mind. Guilt gnawed at her. She hadn't meant to lash out like that, but the way Stefan had spoken to her had pushed her over the edge. Now, she was terrified that he might fire her. She had crossed a line, and the thought of losing her job made her stomach twist in knots. She decided that the moment Stefan returned home, she would apologize. She had to make things right.

      As the evening stretched on, Coby glanced at the time on her phone and realized it was getting late. Stefan still hadn't come home, and her anxiety began to grow. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The house was eerily quiet, and with each passing minute, the silence only seemed to deepen her unease. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she climbed out of bed and headed downstairs to check if maybe he had come back without her noticing.

      As she descended the stairs, she froze when she spotted Stefan sitting on the couch in the dimly lit living room. The sight of him startled her. She hadn't heard him come in, and seeing him now, so still and silent, sent a jolt of concern through her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her plan to apologize. She had to make this right, no matter what.

      "Mr. Reynolds," Coby began, her voice soft and hesitant, "I'm really sorry about what I said this morning. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please forgive me." She waited, hoping for some kind of response, but Stefan didn't move. He sat there, his head hanging low, his elbows resting heavily on his thighs. He seemed lost in his own world, distant and unreachable.

      Coby's worry deepened. "Mr. Reynolds?" she called out gently, stepping closer. This time, Stefan slowly raised his head and turned slightly to look at her. The moment his face came into view, Coby gasped, her heart skipping a beat. His face was bruised, the marks of a recent altercation clear in the harsh contrast of the living room's dim lighting.

      Shock washed over her, rendering her speechless. She had no idea what had happened to him, but the sight of his battered face filled her with concern. All thoughts of her apology vanished as she stood there, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who seemed so far removed from the Stefan she knew.