Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 64

My parents arrived the next morning, their relief loud and almost desperate.

"Oh, sweetheart, we came as soon as we heard," my mother swept into the apartment like a storm, her arms wrapping around me before I could prepare myself. "We've been so worried. The news was everywhere—we couldn't believe it when we saw Lisa's picture on television."

"We should have been here sooner," my father followed behind her, his usually stoic expression cracked with emotion. "We tried calling, but you weren't answering, and we didn't want to intrude during such a difficult time."

"The girls are resting," I said, extracting myself from my mother's embrace. Why the hell are they here again, behaving as if nothing had happened?

"Of course, of course. We won't disturb them," my mother settled onto the couch, her hands fluttering nervously. "We just needed to see you, to know you're all okay. Family matters most at times like these."

The words landed strangely in my chest, like stones dropped into still water.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?" I heard myself asking, probably too exhaust to argue right now.

"Tea would be lovely, dear," my mother's smile was warm, genuine. "You look tired. Have you been sleeping at all?"

"Not much."

"That's understandable. What you've been through—what Lisa has been through—it's unimaginable," she shook her head, her eyes glistening. "When we heard that someone had taken her, I couldn't stop crying. I kept thinking about how frightened she must have been, how frightened you must have been."

They were talking as if they wanted to erase everything that happened between us in the past.

"We're just so grateful she's safe," my father's voice carried from the living room. "That monster was caught before anything worse happened. The news said she's facing federal charges—kidnapping, child endangerment. She'll be in prison for a long time."

"Good," the word came out harder than I intended. "She deserves worse."

"Of course she does. Anyone who hurts a child deserves the worst punishment imaginable," my mother had followed me into the kitchen, her presence hovering like a shadow. "I can't stop thinking about it, Daphne. Those precious girls—our granddaughters—in danger like that. It makes me realize how much we've missed. How much time we've wasted."

I stared at the kettle, watching the water begin to heat, feeling something shift inside me.

"Family first," my mother repeated, her hand finding my shoulder. "That's what your father and I kept saying to each other on the drive here, and we've let too much time slip away."

Their voices began to blur, fading into a strange echo that pulled me backward through time. The kitchen around me dissolved, replaced by a different kitchen—smaller, older, the wallpaper yellowed with age.

Years ago.

I was twenty-three again, standing in my parents' house, my hands shaking as I clutched a pregnancy test I'd taken that morning. Two pink lines, unmistakable and life-changing.

"Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something," my voice trembled in the memory. "I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed had been deafening. My mother's face had drained of color, her coffee cup freezing halfway to her lips. My father had set down his newspaper with deliberate slowness, his expression hardening into something I barely recognized.

"Pregnant?!" My mother's voice had been sharp, accusatory. "How could you let this happen? You're not even in a relationship!"

"It was one night… I didn't plan—"

My father had cut me off, his tone cold as winter. "You threw away your future for one night with some stranger?"

"I didn't throw away anything. I'm going to keep the baby, I want to keep it."

"A baby will ruin your life," my mother's words had been precise, surgical. "You have no job, no savings, no partner! How exactly do you plan to raise a child?"

"I'll figure it out. People do it all the time."

"Those with support systems and resources," my father had stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "You're not ready for this, Daphne. You can't even take care of yourself! How are you going to take care of a baby?"

"I thought you might help me. I thought—"

"Help you make the biggest mistake of your life?" My mother had shaken her head. "We raised you better than this! We gave you every opportunity, and you've thrown it all away on some reckless decision."

"So you reject me?"

"We can't support this choice," my father's voice had been final, absolute. "If you go through with this pregnancy, you're on your own."

Present.

The memory shattered, and I was back in my own kitchen, the kettle whistling sharply. My mother still stood beside me, her hand still on my shoulder, her face full of concern and love that hadn't been there when I'd needed it most.

"Daphne? Are you alright? You went somewhere just now."

I turned to face her, then looked past her to where my father sat in the living room, watching us with worried eyes.

"You keep saying family matters most," my voice was steady, but something hot and sharp was building in my chest. "But I need to ask you once again, as it seems you didn’t hear me well the last time we met here in my house. Why are you so concerned now, when you walked away when I needed you the most?"

The room went quiet. My mother's hand fell from my shoulder as if I'd burned her.

"When I stood in your kitchen years ago, pregnant and terrified, you told me a baby would ruin my life." I stepped past her, moving into the living room where my father sat frozen. "You cut me off, completely. No phone calls, no visits, no help of any kind."

"Daphne, that was—" my father started.

"I delivered twins alone because neither of you bothered to come to the hospital. I spent the first year of their lives surviving on four hours of sleep and sheer desperation, with no family support, no safety net, nothing but my own determination to keep my daughters alive."

"We made mistakes," my mother said, her voice trembling. "We know that now—"

I laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. "I was completely alone because my parents decided their disappointment was more important than their daughter. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"We thought tough love would—"

I cut my father off, my voice rising. "You abandoned me. You let me struggle and suffer and nearly break, and you called it tough love. And now, when I've built a life without you—now you show up wanting to be part of it?"

My parents sat in stunned silence, their faces pale with the precision of my memory.

"I'm not saying this to hurt you," I took a breath, steadying myself. But if you want to be in my daughters' lives, it can't be on your terms. You lost that right when you walked away from me."

"What do you want from us?" my father asked quietly.

"Acknowledge what you did. And then I want you to prove, through actions and not words, that you've changed."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with years of hurt and the fragile possibility of healing.