Shadows of Regret

CHAPTER THREE

Ryujin Matsumoto

I sat inside my matte black Porsche, my fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel as I stared at her small apartment building. I debated whether it was a good idea to knock on her door or not. The decision weighed heavily on me, each passing second adding to my unease.

Finally, I decided to go for it. I stepped out of the car and walked towards the front desk, my mind racing with what I would say. When I reached the lobby, I casually bribed the front desk staff to give me her apartment number. To my surprise, they gave it up with almost no resistance, which left me feeling disgusted and uneasy. The ease with which they handed over that information was alarming, and I made a mental note to speak with the building’s management about firing them. The mother of my child shouldn’t have to live somewhere with such lax security.

As I walked through the narrow but well-kept hallway toward her door, my nerves returned, knotting in my stomach. The walls were neatly painted, the space clean, but it was all a blur as I tried to focus on what I would say when she opened the door. Standing in front of her apartment door, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. With a shaky hand, I finally reached out and rang her doorbell.

As I waited, the seconds felt like hours. My heart pounded so loudly that I could hear it echoing in my ears. When the door finally opened, I froze.

Imani stood there, looking more breathtaking than I remembered. She was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that accentuated her hourglass figure, the fabric hugging her curves perfectly.

Her dark skin glowed with a richness that was only enhanced by the goddess braids cascading down her shoulders.

She looked even more beautiful than the last time I saw her, a vision of strength and grace that made it impossible to speak. We both stood there, staring at each other in stunned silence, neither of us moving.

Before I could find my voice, a little boy's voice broke the stillness. "Mommy!" he shouted, running over to Imani and wrapping his tiny arms around her leg. His small fingers clutched the fabric of her suit as he looked up at her with wide eyes, "I'm hungry."

Imani looked down at him, and instinctively, so did I. My breath caught in my throat. The boy was a mirror image of me.

He had the same black hair, the same deep-set eyes, and even the dimples that appeared when he smiled. It was like looking at a smaller version of myself, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

Guilt washed over me, my chest tightening as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. This was my son, and I had missed so much of his life already.

I couldn't stop staring at him, my mind reeling. But then Imani spoke, breaking the moment. "I'll be right there," she said softly to the boy. He nodded and ran off, disappearing into the apartment. When I looked back up, Imani's expression had changed. The shock was gone, replaced by anger as she glared at me.

With tears brimming in my eyes, I managed to choke out, "Is that… is he…?"

But before I could finish, she cut me off, her voice laced with fury. "I don't want to see you. Stay away from us," she spat out, her words sharp and cold. Then, without another word, she slammed the door in my face, leaving me standing there, reeling from the weight of everything that had just happened.

I stood there, trying to process it all—the boy, Imani's anger, the reality of what I had lost. The hallway felt even smaller now, closing in on me as I struggled to breathe, my mind racing and heart aching.