rumour has it | ✓ [ old version ]

xxvi. like mother like daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

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I'm tired of the blue in my room which is why I decided to paint the walls again. I do this all the time especially when I become bored of what I painted on the walls previously and this time is no different than the others. I have a plan in my mind of how I want to paint my walls; the wall behind my bed is going to have the words of a song on the wall in cursive writing, the other walls are going to be painted black and are going to have small stars covering the entire soon to be black painted walls.

The bottom of the walls are covered in tape and the carpet floors are covered in layers of newspaper. In my left hand is my palette that only contains black paint which is going to be used for the cursive writing that is going on the only white wall that will be in my room. I dip my brush in the black paint before beginning to write the words on the wall. However, when I only got a few words down, someone knocks on my door.

I turn around to see him standing in my open doorway with his hands in his pocket. I immediately turn back around, not ready to speak will him about what I found out. It's only been a few days and I've ignored him for those days, I couldn't find the strength to talk to him about it. I'm scared that he's holding more secrets from me.

"Faye honey, can we talk?." He asks, but I don't say anything; I just continue to paint the words on the wall in front of me "look I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I should of and I was an idiot not to-." He begins and I scoff at his words "please don't ignore me again." He begs with a sigh.

"Is there any other secrets you'd like to tell me?." I ask him.

Silence fills the room around us and I didn't know how to handle it. Soon he ruins the silence with another sigh. I hear footsteps walking up to the ladder I stand on, I don't stop what I'm doing as I listen as to what he's doing. The footsteps stop and from the corner of my eye, I see my dad standing next to me with a photograph in his hand that he probably got from his wallet that's in his other hand. I stop painting to give him my full attention.

"Who's that?." I question when seeing that the photo is of a woman and a baby that she's cuddling in her arms. The woman is beautiful despite being in a hospital bed wearing nothing, but a hospital grown. Her dark brown eyes show exhaustion and pain since she probably just gave birth to the baby in her arms. Her brown hair is a complete mess that flows down to her back that's leaning against the pillows on her bed.

"That's you-." He begins "with your birth mum." He finishes. I look at him with wide eyes as he holds out the photo for me to take, I put the brush away in the pocket of my waist apron before grabbing the photo out of his hands. I look closely at it and I'm shocked at how similar I look to my biological mother "after your birth, she asked me to take a picture of you two, but instead of keeping it, she gave it to me. She wanted me to give it to you when I gave you the box of letters, it was that same day that she gave me the box." He explains to me.

I look like her. My pink hair was once brown, the same shade as hers and my eyes are the exact same as hers as well. The only thing different between the two of us are our facial structure. I couldn't believe it, I'm seeing her for the first time and even though, it wasn't in person; it still made me emotional. I thought I was done with crying, but apparently not.

"When did she die?." I ask, my eyes still on the photo in my hand.

He sighs "a few months after your birth." He replies.

"Does my biological dad know?.' I have so many questions and there were all circling around my head like a buzzing bee.

"He left when he found out about the cancer, so it's possible." He answers and at least I'm getting the answers I want now, at least now I know he isn't lying because in the letter my biological mother gave me, she wrote the exact same thing.

"Do you know their names?." That was the only thing my biological mother left out in her letter.

"Lila and George." He tells me.

I feel a tear roll down my face as I look at the photo. I want to keep it, it's the only thing I have of Lila, not including the letters that are underneath my bed. But it's the only visual thing I have of her. As I look closer, I see that she looks sick. She looks pale and her bones are sticking out from underneath her grown. She was sick and badly from the looks of it.

"Can I keep the photo?." I ask, my voice croaking from the tears that want to escape.

He chuckles softly "of course you can sweetheart."

I close my eyes as I picture her; my dead mother. In her letter she told me that when finding out about the cancer, she wanted it all to end, but when finding out about me, she was given the strength to fight for the both of us, but sadly the sickness won. She also told me that if she didn't have cancer, she would of kept me because she would of had the money that was spent toward chemo to help cure her. But she wrote something in the letter that I'll never forget, the words that will always be on my heart.

"I love you Faye"

There were simple, but sometimes all it takes are a few simple words to make anyone feel whole.