Finale Part Two. Maleah Jenner. 18 years later. "Then what happened to Dad?" My seventeen year old daughter asked me.
I just recalled the events of my life eighteen years ago, but was yet to finish the story. My daughter sat on my couch, with several tears cascading down her face, whilst her twin brother had an unreadable look on his face.
They were both now seventeen and finishing school in a few months. They were extremely talented. They're intelligent, athletic and musically talented: in better words, they both can sing.
My Arissa and True.
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Arissa/\
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True /\
"Mom, we're not kids anymore. We can handle the truth. Our whole life we never had a dad, we at least deserve to know what happened to him." True said, shaking his head through out the sentence.
"It went like this." I began.
(Back to present) Michael Stevenson. "What the fuck do you mean?" I shouted, kicking at a trash can.
"You're my son, Michael." Ted evilly laughed.
This nigga gave me up. I lived a parentless life. I had no one. And he has the nerve to laugh in my face.
"How, Dad? How? How the fuck is Michael fucking Stevenson my brother!" Maurice shouted at his father.
"Shut up and listen." He told us.
Anger was pulsing through my veins, and as much as I wanted to kill this nigga, I opted to punch the wall instead.
"Hand me your guns." He commanded.
Maurice and I laughed. He is insane if he truly believes that I will hand over my gun.
"Hand them over. Anyone one of you can shoot me whilst I'm talking. If you don't give them to me, I won't explain. Hand them over." He said, flicking his wrist outwards.
