Page 10 of Forced Bratva Hostage

“No, I do not.” A broad smile spread across his face.

Dad cracked two eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a flourish, and then stole a glance at me. “Hey, princess, little help here, please.”

I hopped onto a stool, eager to contribute as always. My job was simple—stir the batter with a wooden spoon—and it brought me so much joy whenever I did that.

“Atta girl. That's my Pancake Queen,” he praised, his voice laced with pride.

Mom just sat there, smiling all the way through, her palms under her chin as she stared at her charming husband making a mouthwatering breakfast.

Her cheeks flushed, eyelashes battering at him.

As Dad expertly fried a pancake, the sizzling sound filled the air, enticing everyone's senses.

“Hmm,” Mom and I chorused, savoring the sweet aroma, tantalizing our taste buds, our anticipation building.

With a flick of his wrist, Dad flipped the pancake high into the air, catching it with a sly smirk. “Flip-tastic! My specialty moves!” He laughed.

“Keep that up, and you're gonna make Wren think pancakes can fly.” Mom let out a hearty chuckle.

“Wait, they can't?” I jerked my head at her, eyes widening at the realization that Dad had been lying to me all this time.

“See what I'm talking about?” She nodded in my direction.

We burst out laughing.

“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asked, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

“Now what?” Mom rubbed her forehead, her face lighting up with anticipation.

“Tada!” He revealed a pancake shaped like a rabbit.

I gasped loudly, my eyes widening in surprise. “Bunny pancakes!” I squealed.

“That's right, sweetheart. It's a bunny pancake!” His voice matched my energy as he pretended it was a rabbit hopping across the plate.

I threw my head back, laughing hard with a hand on my belly.

Mom joined in, making a silly voice for the bunny. “Mr. Hoppy wants syrup, please.”

Dad snorted, his gaze shifting across Mom and me.

Those were the good old days when things were a lot simpler—when I was carefree and loved by both my parents.

Those Sunday mornings were more than just pancakes; they were precious moments filled with laughter, joy, and love.

We used to go to the beach almost every weekend, and I missed those times. I missed feeling the sand between my toes, feeling Mom's hand locked in mine as we strolled the shore. Dad would always build sand castles for his Pancake Queen, a testament to his love.

Camping trips used to be fun. We'd roast marshmallows and stare at the starry skies, Dad teaching me about the constellations.

And game nights? Boy, those used to be filled with laughter and healthy competition, and Dad would always lose. Always. It didn't matter how much he put into it; whenever he was up against Mom, he'd lose, and I'd laugh so hard.

He was good at making pancakes but horrible at gaming, and Mom delighted in teasing him about it.

I’d had a happy family, and I lost it—I lost both parents on the same day.

It was as though Dad died the day Mom did. After her passing, his spirit dwindled—he lost his spark, his vitality faded. And just like that, my life switched from sweet to sour,fromsour to bitter.

I'd give anything to have things returned to the way they were, to have my father back, at least.

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