Tragedy of Love

The Price of Secrets

"Father, are you busy?" I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm. "I've been trying to reach you, but you always seem to be occupied."

My father looked up from his desk, his expression a mix of surprise and irritation. "Denise, what are you doing here?" he asked, glancing at his watch as if to check how much time he had to spare.

"I needed to talk to you about Preston," I said, taking a seat across from him without waiting for an invitation.

"Oh, how's he? I haven't seen him in years." he asked, his tone unusually light, almost cheerful.

"Well, he's been in a coma for a few months due to a car accident," I said, holding back the edge in my voice. "He could be temporarily paralyzed."

"What? Is he alright? Why didn't you tell us this?" Vincent asked, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Well, Father, if you answered when I called, maybe you would have known. And let's not forget that the phone goes both ways," I snapped, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. "I've been busy with the campaign. I wouldn't have time."

"Busy? Really?" I scoffed. "Well, he's out of the coma, but that's not what I wanted to talk about. I've been trying to divorce Preston for ages, without lawyers, and going back and forth. He refuses to cooperate. It's not like I randomly fell out of love with him. He's been cheating on me, probably since we were dating."

Vincent's face showed a brief moment of surprise before hardening. "And?"

"When I spoke to him after he woke up, he told me I'd have to talk to you about why divorcing him won't be easy," I said, my voice growing more intense. "I would have preferred to do this over the phone, but you didn't answer. So here I am. I need to know what he's talking about. I hope Preston was just messing with me."

I stopped, waiting for him to respond. I noticed a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, his throat working as he swallowed hard. My father, nervous? This was a side of him I had never seen before—along with something that looked disturbingly close to guilt or regret.

Vincent shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing as if I had hit a nerve. "Denise, this isn't the time or place for this discussion."

"No, it's exactly the time," I shot back, my frustration boiling over. "You've been avoiding me for years, and now you want to brush this aside? I need answers."

Without warning, he stood up abruptly, turning to leave the room. "This isn't a conversation we're having right now."

I rushed to block his path, my chest tightening with a mix of anger and desperation. "You don't get to walk away from this! Not now. Not ever!"

He tried to push past me, but I stood my ground, my voice rising to a shout. "You owe me the truth! You've treated me like I'm nothing my whole life. Always dismissed me because I wasn't the son you wanted."

"I've had enough of your avoidance. You've always treated me like I'm insignificant, like I don't matter. You've been a terrible father, always dismissive and cold. I hated you for it growing up. Do you remember that time you hit me for wanting to play with my dolls instead of doing something you deemed important? I was just a little girl, and you made me feel worthless.

Vincent's face contorted with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Denise, stop this right now."

"No!" I screamed. "I've had enough of your excuses and your lies. I remember when you used to hit Mom. Do you know how much that scarred me? I was just a kid, terrified in my own home."