My daughter called for me, from what seemed to be the living room. I quickly jogged over to her, from my bedroom.
“It’s for you” She said handing me the phone, not taking her eyes off her own cell phone. I grabbed the phone from my daughter, walking away with it in my hand. I entered the kitchen, giving me some privacy just in case.
“Hello” I spoke into the phone, holding out the ‘e’. I quickly realised it was my mother when she replied back.
“Oh sweetie, I’m glad to hear you voice, I was cleaning out your old room, and have a box of stuff that I think you might want” My mother said softly, as she was growing old.
I refused to go over to get my box of stuff; it was most likely junk anyways. But my mother put up an argument, and I gave in.
I placed the phone on the kitchen table, and chuckled to myself, my mother was something else. I called out to my daughter, and told her that we were going to grandmas. I heard a quiet groan. It was always a fight to get her to go, and I never knew why.
She got up from the couch and stomped her feet out the door and into the truck. I rolled my eyes, knowing this will take forever.
The ride was quiet and awkward, and not many good songs played on the radio.
Once we got to my mother’s house, it was all hugs and kisses. We hung up our jackets in the closet, struggling to find an empty spot. That old lady owned so many jackets, yet I never seem to see her wear any.
“Your stuff’s in your room, and you my lovely granddaughter I have something for you” My mother said cheery as ever, pulling my daughter with her into the kitchen.
I walked down the old halls, into my old room. There on the bed sat a box, filled with what seemed to look like books. I approached the box, and grabbed the first item that sat in it. It wasn’t a book, it was a photo album.
I sat on the end of the bed, and slowly opened it, hoping it wouldn’t be the album that hated looking at.
I opened it, and it was that album. The tears instantly flew down my face like a waterfall, and the memories hit me like a brick wall. It was an old photo album of my daughter’s mother and I. I made it shortly after she died. I stared at the first picture, remembering that night as if it was yesterday. It was the first night we had met.
I must’ve been staring at that picture for a while, because my daughter walked in. She had a huge batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies, which smelt amazing.
My daughters smile instantly faded into a frown when she saw that I was crying. She quickly walked over to me, placing the cookies on the night stand.
“What’s wrong daddy?” She asked, worry in her voice.
I was too chocked up to speak so I pointed to the picture. She looked down at the photo album, confused.
“Who’s that girl your with in all these photo’s” She asked, looking deep into the photo to see if she can recognise the girl.
It took me forever to find my words.
“It’s your mom” I blurted out, a couple tears seeping out in the process. “She’s beautiful isn’t she?”
My daughter nodded her head, not taking her eyes off of the photo. We sat there for what felt like ages.
“Daddy?” My daughter asked, looking away from the pictures, and towards me. I looked up at her, letting her know she had my attention.
“Why did mommy die?” She said, chocking at the end of her sentence, the words hurt to say. Even if you never knew your mom, she was still gone.
I didn’t want to tell the story, all this crying and memories was enough for right now. Infact I never wanted to tell the story, but I knew it was time.
“That’s a story for later” I said, hoping she would forget about it soon, it was a story that would be hard to tell.
“How about tonight, when we get home” She said, more then asked. She stood up, grabbing the photo album. She placed it in the box, and carried it out of the room.
I grabbed one of the cookies of the nightstand, and quickly shoved it in my mouth. I grabbed the plate, and scurried out of the room to catch up with my daughter.
My daughter rushed us out of the house, as she was excited for the story. Knowing that I would not win the battle of staying longer, I played along with her excuses.
We left my mother’s house, and returned home. The ride back wasn’t as awkward, and the music on the radio was better.
As soon as we got thru the front door of our house my daughter ran off into her room. I sighed a sigh of relief, thinking that there would be no story telling. Untill, my daughter called out to me.
“Coming!” I called back, slowly walking towards her room, regretting every step I took.
I got into my daughters room, where she lay on her bed eyes wide open. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her.
“You don’t think that I forgot about the story do you?” She said, a little cocky.
“Of course not!” I lied, sitting beside her bed, getting ready to tell her the story.
I made sure I was comfortable, because this was one long story. I looked at my daughter knowing she was ready to hear the story I’ve been putting off for years. She smiled at me giving me a little more confidence to tell the story.
I started “Well back when your dad was a part of a worldwide famous boy band...”
~~~~~~~~~
HEEEY everybody, thanks for reading chapter one, I fixed it up a bit because the original one SUUUCKED! I hope you liked it.
And I’m sorry I didn’t post any names because it would spoil the WHOOOLE story.
The rest of this fan fiction will be taking place in the mothers POV (Yes the dead one)
It will now be going back a couple years AKA around our time, and explaining the story of her mother and father, and how her mother died, and the rocky road she had. Trust me keep reading! You won’t regret it.
And ps, just to let you know the mothers name is Airadeen!
