Page 117 of The Unwanted Wife

“You mean, you barely had time to be a parent because there was hardly a time when you weren’t deployed.”

I draw myself up to my full height. I know where this argument is going, but I have to try. “I was doing my duty as a Marine.”

“You shirked your duty as a father. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Margaret—" He looks away, and I follow his gaze to where my aunt is seated. Margaret never approved of my mother marrying Arthur. She broke off all relations, as a result. After I fell out with my father, knowing that’d likely be enough incentive for Margaret to come around, I approached her and asked if she’d be able to help me with Felix. Luckily, she wanted a relationship with her grandnephew. Her only condition was that she’d never have to see Arthur, which I readily agreed to.

I invited her to stay with us. Tasked her to be his primary caregiver. And to her credit, she stepped up. At an age when she could have been enjoying her retirement, she played the role of mother and father, and friend. It’s no wonder Felix looks to her as more of a parent than me.

He finishes, “—I wouldn’t have known what a normal home could be.”

“I know I made mistakes?—"

He laughs. “Mistakes? You call leaving me for months on end while you went off on another assignment a mistake? Why don’t we call it what it is? You didn’t want me.”

My stomach churns. I know I wasn’t around much for my son, but I had no idea it resulted in him feeling this abandoned. “I did want you.”

“You had a funny way of showing it.” His features take on a pitiful look. “You were too busy fighting for the great unwashed—a nameless, faceless mass of people who had no idea what you were sacrificing for them.”

“You’re right. Most of what I did was undercover. The common populace will never have any idea what I’ve sacrificed so they can be safe.”

“You sacrificed me, Quentin.” He takes a step back. “You gave me up, and now, I’m giving you up.”

My own son calls me by my first name. He and I both know, he doesn’t owe me the respect of calling me Dad.

A ball of emotion chokes my throat. My heart threatens to rip through my ribcage. Every part of my body urges me to tell him how much I love him. How much I miss him. How much I regret not being there for him. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is, “Is that your final decision?”

He merely shakes his head, then pivots on his feet and walks away.

As I stare after him, my aunt walks over. “Couldn’t you stop yourself from getting into an argument with him on his wedding day?” She looks at me with reproach. I’m forty-nine years old, and my aunt can still level that look at me and make me squirm.

“I screwed up.” I loosen my tie.

“You need to put things right,” she says in a quiet voice.

I know, I do. I watch as Felix disappears through the door set to one side of the church, but when I take a step in the direction he’s gone in, she grips my arm. “Don’t. Give him some time.”

“He’s getting married, and I need to talk to him before it’s too late,” I point out.

“You’ve waited this long. Surely, you can hold off until after the ceremony.”

I hesitate, then nod.

Knox, my nephew, who’s nearer in age to me than to Felix, and who accompanied me to the wedding, takes in the scene and whistles, “You weren’t kidding when you said this wasn’t going to be a dull wedding.”

It’s the only reason he agreed to come with me. Not that I fault him. If it weren’t my son getting married, I wouldn’t be here. Not when I’ve had a beef with Knox for a long time.

I look around the space—the soaring columns, the stained glass over the altar, the statue of Christ looking down on the proceedings. The scent of incense is heavy in the air. The very air is still and weighs heavily on my shoulders. I hate churches. I didn’t think Felix was religious, but then, I don’t know much about my son. And whose fault is that?

I follow Knox as he slides into a pew. My aunt walks over to one in the front, where she sits down next to a gaggle of women. All of them are wearing dresses and hats, as befits a wedding, I suppose.

I wouldn’t know. I’ve made it a point never to attend one. It reminds me too much of my own, which thankfully, wasn’t in a church. It was before a justice of peace, and then I was called up to serve. The life of a Marine. I returned eight months later, in time to see my wife give birth to Felix. She died the next day.

I didn’t have the courage to face Felix after that, which is when my aunt stepped in. Then, it seemed easier not to interfere in the rhythm they had. She and my son formed a bond. The child would be well looked after. I wouldn’t have to see the face of my son, who’d remind me of my dead wife and my non-starter of a marriage. I didn’t have it in me to be his main caregiver. I was barely keeping it together, myself. I was in no state to take care of a child.

It seemed best to ensure the child had everything, in terms of material needs, and then, let my aunt take on the duties of primary caregiver.

So perhaps, I was lazy. I didn’t push myself. I took the easy way out. Or maybe, I was a coward, protecting myself. Either way, my decisions were wrong. I’m watching my son get married, and I don’t know who he is.

“You all right, mate?” Knox murmurs.

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