Page 49 of Exile and Embrace

I’m probably going to be a horrible parent.

Hopefully, her mother can make up for it.

I didn’t think that finding out the gender of the baby would change this much for me.

I’m still going to leave and make a name for myself. Working in politics is the only choice I have now. My little girl deserves the best out of life.

She is going to be the brightest light in my life. She’s never going to know all the horrible shit I’ve done. I’m going to be better for her.

I scoff and reach for my wine, taking another sip.

It seems like he never did change his true colors.

As I lean over and grab one of the pictures from the stack beside me, another is stuck to it. I separate the pictures and flip them over, finding another story on the back.

First year of university is finally over, and it felt like hell. I don’t know why mom insisted on the picture walking out of the airport, but she did.

At least I have someone waiting for me.

Although, the ring in my pocket feels like it’s burning a hole through my slacks.

I hope she says yes.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if she doesn’t. She’s perfect for me. It might have taken some time to see that, but I love her.

And then there’s my baby girl. Waiting for me to come back home and hug her. Hold her close. Leaving her again at the end of the summer is going to be impossible.

Although, I could get back home and find out that my daughter hates me. She’s a baby, but she could still hate me, right?

Who was this person?

This man either writes in journals or whatever scrap of paper he finds. The backs of his pictures are imprinted with stories that have next to nothing to do with the people on the front.

Looking at these pictures and stories, I see a man I never really knew. A man who thought my mom wasn’t going to be a permanent fixture in his life. One who fell more in love with her over the course of a year away.

What happened in that year? Would Mom even be willing to tell me about it if I asked?

The thought is fleeting. I have no desire to talk to my mother. I’m not sure that I could trust whatever she tells me either.

I take another sip of wine before continuing through the photos and journals.

Dad was sporadic when he wrote. His perspective on his life is hazy at best. It’s as if he’s writing like he’s sure that he’s running out of time. As if he can’t possibly get all the words on the page before someone tells him his time has come.

It’s a side of my dad that I never knew.

While I was growing up, Dad was calm. Sensible. He thought things out before he said them or wrote them down. Maybe that came with being a politician.

I grab another stack of pictures.

All of them depict my father in university with his friends. Some of the photos have notes to his mom written on the back. Others have stories about his friends.

The night is growing darker as I get to the bottom of the stack. Everything is silent as I pick up the last photo album and spread it open in my lap.

I’m barely past the first page when my phone starts ringing.

I don’t bother to check the ID, instead sliding my thumb across the screen while flipping to the next page. “Hey Finn. You going to be out later?”

“Funny.” The voice on the other end of the line sends a shiver down my spine. “I really thought that my brother would have had better taste. You would think that he would know better than to go after something that belongs to me.”

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