Page 110 of The Very First Night

“I’d hardly call sending a check for half the value of our electric bill every month fulfilling your obligations,” I snarl, blatant disgust coating my words.

His voice drips with arrogance as he says, “You may not know much about me, but Patrick here can attest that I never make a bad investment. So why would I send more money when, to be frank, you simply weren’t worth it?”

I’ve spent a large portion of my life believing just that—believing everything he presumably thought about me was right and that I just had to try harder to make my father love me. Send more letters, get better grades, accomplish more…then maybe, just maybe he’d see my value.

Now I realize that his approval, his love, has never mattered. All this time, I’ve been chasing after someone who doesn’t deserve my love or attention, and with that realization I finally feel free.

He continues without delay, his snarling voice causing my skin to crawl. “But back then, when you got someone pregnant, you were expected to marry them, so I did. I never loved your mother, but I did the honorable thing anyway and I married her. We’d been casually seeing one another and the bitch trapped me.”

It takes everything in me not to retort and say that it takes two to conceive a child and that he was just as responsible as she was, but I refrain, wanting to hear the rest of his tangled web.

“Patrick’s mother and I were on a break at the time, but your mother managed to get her jagged little nails in me. I refused to allow her selfishness to stop me from having a family.”

“You had a family.” My voice comes out colder than I’ve ever heard it.

“You and your mother were never my family. You were an unfortunate result of a horrible mistake. Luckily, Christina forgave me.”

Suddenly, so much about him makes sense. Every ignored letter, every changed phone number, every effort gone unanswered—it all makes sense now.

Patrick Marritt Sr. is a horrible person.

As I stare up at him, my throat tightens and my stomach churns with anger, but I take a deep breath and force myself to speak. “Okay,” I say, my voice trembling with a mixture of sadness and anger.

His ice-blue eyes are as cold as ever, reminding me this is the right choice.

I don’t bother to tell him goodbye; I don’t force myself to maintain composure long enough to wish him well. I couldn’t care less if not caring that he’s battling cancer makes me a horrible person.

So, with the last shred of dignity I have left, I hold my head high and walk out.

I’m proud to say that, for the first time in my life, I don’t look back.

FIFTY-FOUR

KAT

Janet sits across from me in her cozy office, scribbling notes on her yellow legal pad. It has been a while since our last in-person therapy session, and I am relieved to be back in this familiar space where I can feel seen.

I just finished telling her about seeing my dad yesterday: everything he said and ultimately how I handled it.

“That must be incredibly difficult for you,” Janet says gently, her eyes filled with empathy.

I let out a shaky sigh and rub my arms, trying to force away the lingering emotions from seeing my father. It was necessary to face him after years of silence, even though it felt like an emotional nightmare. I’ve accepted who Patrick Marritt Sr. is, but my heart still struggles to come to terms with it. Last night, I laid in bed, tears streaming down my face as I tried to find solace in sleep.

With a nod, I force a tight-lipped smile. My hand trembles as I grab a tissue and dab at my teary eyes. “It was tough, but necessary,” I manage to say, my voice quivering with emotion.

“It was brave, Kat. Being hurt by it doesn’t make you less brave for facing him.”

“I just…I spent over twenty years chasing the love of a father who hates me. I feel stupid,” I confess.

“You’re not stupid. You have an immense capacity to love others—don’t allow your father’s inability to see the worth in that to diminish something that makes you so special.”

“Well, I’m two for two on loving people who don’t love me back, so it’s not exactly easy to look at it from a different point of view.” I cross my arms over my chest as I look at a framed photo of a cat in needlepoint on the wall behind her, desperately searching for a distraction.

“You’re not two for two, though. Yes, your father and Elijah were very hard lessons for you, but—Kat?”

“Hm?”

“Tanner loves you back, and that’s not nothing. It’s not everything; it can’t be everything. But he seems like someone who wants to help you be the best you, and that’s not nothing.”

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