One Day [PRN]

Eight

There was a heavy silence in the room after my dad's words. My stomach twisted in knots as I watched him, my breath held, waiting for Prince's response.

I could hear Prince's voice faintly through the phone, though I couldn't make out what he was saying. My dad, however, wasn't about to be gentle.

"I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing," my dad started, his voice cold and unyielding, "but you don't get to waltz into my daughter's life and... and get her pregnant and think there aren't going to be consequences."

I winced at his words, feeling the sting of anger behind them. This was exactly what I had feared. My dad wasn't just angry—he was protective, hurt, and he felt like he needed to confront Prince head-on.

"Let me tell you something," my dad continued, his tone sharp. "I don't care who you are, how famous you are, or how much money you have. You don't get to mess with her like this. She's my little girl, and you... you're old enough to know better."

I could imagine Prince on the other end of the line, calm and composed, but I had no idea how he'd react. My dad's voice dripped with accusation, and the age difference had always been a point of tension. Now, it was front and center.

"I know exactly who you are," my dad went on, his voice rising. "You've been around a long time, and I've heard the stories. I don't care how you try to spin this—you're too old for her. You should've walked away."

I saw my mom glance at me, her face filled with concern. She wasn't saying anything, but I could see she was struggling with all of this too.

There was another pause as Prince said something I couldn't hear. My dad's face twisted in frustration. "No, I don't care what you have to say about that. You should've known better."

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mix of emotions swirling inside me—fear, frustration, shame. This wasn't how I wanted things to go. This wasn't how I wanted my dad to handle this. But there was no stopping him now. He had years of anger and confusion bottled up, and this was his moment to let it all out.

Another stretch of silence followed, and I could almost feel the tension rising in the air.

Finally, my dad's voice softened, just slightly. "You need to understand something," he said, his voice still stern but less sharp. "She's my daughter, and I'm going to protect her, no matter what. So you better be ready to step up, because if you hurt her—if you so much as think about hurting her—I will come for you."

With that, my dad pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He dropped it on the table in front of me, his expression still hard, but there was something else there too—something like fear, or maybe resignation.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to defend Prince without pushing my dad further, and I certainly didn't want to escalate things any more than they already were.

"I just want you to be safe," my dad said quietly, his anger finally giving way to something softer. "And I don't trust him."

I nodded, my throat tight. "I know."

But the truth was, I did trust Prince. And now, I had to figure out how to make my dad see that—if that was even possible.

The room was heavy with the aftermath of the phone call. I sat on the edge of the couch, wiping away the hot tears that had been streaming down my face. My emotions felt raw and exposed, and the sting of my dad's harsh words was still sharp. The air was thick with tension, and I felt the weight of my family's judgment pressing down on me.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. I had to say something—anything—to bridge the gap between my dad's anger and my own pain.

"The baby's a boy," I said quietly, my voice trembling as I spoke. I looked down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap, not wanting to meet my dad's gaze. "We found out a few weeks ago."