Page 82 of Papers Don't Lie

So what are his plans? Is he going to make us sit on sharp knives until he decides to do something? Will he kill me and my family if I disobey giving Esmeray away?

It’s something I know he’d have no remorse doing, and I’ve been seriously considering moving out so in case that happens, my family won’t be touched. But then, with my father’s current state, I can’t do that. If anything, I’d put him in danger even more.

I have a plan to be one step ahead of him, but there’s a problem. While for others the costs would be the issue, for me, it’s the time. Time is ticking, and I’m not even halfway done.

One thing is certain. Sooner or later, Carter will be wiped out if he dares to threaten or touch what’s mine.

Esmeray is sleeping next to me, which is a surprise. She’s usually a morning bird. Today, she woke up as usual, prepared me breakfast before work, and snuggled back to bed. It might bebecause of the long night we had, but when that happens, she prefers to get out of bed as quickly as possible so she doesn’t face me after an almost-having-sex night. That will have to change pretty quickly.

I get out of bed before eating the waffles she made for me and take a shower, ready to go to work.

Things between us lately have been colder. We have distanced a lot and while she still acts the same—chooses my outfit every day, makes me breakfast, and steals my blanket at night—something is different.

Since that night when we touched each other for the first time and she came all over me, I've had plenty of time to rethink our conversation until I came to a conclusion.

She wanted to hear me say "I love you," and when I didn’t, she put a bridge between us. It makes sense. She said it’s not something that can be forced and that she’s upset about something I didn’t say.

On the day we got the last envelopes, I was planning to do just that after setting up a meeting with a friend of mine who is a clothing designer, but Carter’s message blew it all away.

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat without feeling like I’m about to throw up, and that’s because of the feeling crawling at my skin, warning that something bad is about to happen.

That she’s going to be out of reach just like the nightmare I keep having.

Like every other morning when she sleeps in, I lean down to place a kiss on her forehead before leaving. I walk downstairs and decide to stop by my father’s room to let him know I’m leaving.

I knock on the door, glancing around the empty house before knocking again when he doesn’t reply. He might be still sleeping, so I let myself inside the room, seeing him on the chair closest to the window.

“Dad?" I ask, following his lost gaze to the outside view. I get closer to him, and he sucks in a breath, then immediately coughs.

Now that I’m closer to him and the light of the upcoming day travels his features, I notice the tiredness in his eyes, his dry lips, and the white blanket across his face.

“Dad." I drop to my knees, taking his hand in mine. “Did you take your pills?" I ask, desperation pricking at my heart. Sweat drips on my back as he looks at me but only with his eyes, not moving his head.

He takes a deep breath, a sound familiar to a whistling escaping his throat. “Not”—cough—“for a few"—cough, cough—“months now." Cough.

My body turns to stone. “What are you talking about?” I get up to my feet, ready to go search for those meds and slide them into his mouth by force if necessary. His assistants will be having a chat with me about this. I don’t get to leave because I can feel his hand on me, barely.

I look down at it, and when I see the look in his eyes, I know that if I leave now, I’ll regret it. With trembling limbs, I go back on my knees. “Dad, let me give you your pills. Why didn’t anyone tell me you’ve been refusing to take them?” I ask, gritting my teeth together.

He blinks once, not consuming his strength to talk about something like this. “I’m ready to die”—cough—“son.”

When he says those words, it’s like he’s stabbing me over and over, and when I bleed out, he brings me back to life only to do it over again.

“You’re not going to die. Do you understand?" I say, then take my phone out of my pocket, dialing 9-1-1.

A faint smile takes over his face. “I can die happy”—cough—“thanks to you. You’re married and in love with your wife." He takes a deep breath, followed by another cough.

The rings continue escaping out of the speaker of my phone in the wait for someone to reply.

“Dad, hang in there,” I tell him, wanting him to know that I’m not going to give up on him just like that.

“You made my wish come true,” he says, and then his hand squeezes my palm once before it goes limp. His eyes don’t blink anymore, and there’s a low inhale filling the silent room that disappears soon after.

My phone drops to the floor and my head on his leg. I don’t need to check on him to know he’s not here. If he were alive, I would feel that warmth in my body like a natural reaction to seeing him, and he would’ smile at me, lighting an entire room.

“Kai? Did you leave yet? You forgot your coat," Esmeray says in a morning voice, her steps echoing as she walks down the stairs.

As much as my throat tightens to get some words out, my mind keeps them locked in and empties into nothingness as I stare at his hand I take between my shaky fingers. Usually, when a person enters the room or is already there with you, you feel it. I don’t know if it’s the body warmth or what it is, but you feel it. Now what my heart feels is nothing but loneliness.

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