It was just the two of us—me and my father—taking a normal walk in the garden like a normal father and daughter. It is so normal, that it doesn't feel normal.
I was dying to start a conversation, not knowing how to properly initiate one. It has been a long time since I've met my father, and the father I knew apparently wasn't my real father.
My father wasn't much of a talker, and he wouldn't talk unless I asked him a question. I thought it was because he didn't like talking to me, but John clarified that it was because he has a hard time talking.
It angers me when I think of how this all happened because of Fiona. Why do we have to suffer for her? We could have led a perfectly normal life if she hadn't come to us.
"The weather is nice today," I said, and, like it was playing jokes on me, the sky rumbled, and the sun disappeared behind the clouds. Good one, Violet.
