Waves of memories flooded back: the first time I met Damon, his soft lips against mine, his firm chest over my body, his dangerous looks when he was beating up criminals, his warm embrace at the conference meeting, and his warm palm on my head when I almost bumped into a car.
My mind was conflicted. I didn't understand Damon at all. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't care, while other times it feels like he does, like when he insisted on aborting our baby.
I couldn't help but touch my baby bump; she was now five months and three weeks along.
I strode to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, my thoughts interrupted by the incessant ringing of my phone. I had been ignoring Dad's calls for months now.
As I walked back to my room, the ringing persisted. Curiosity got the better of me, and I picked up without checking the caller ID.
"What do you want?" I snapped.
The response was icy. "Do I need a reason to call my wife?"
Mortified, I yanked the phone away from my ear to double-check the caller ID. My eyes widened in embarrassment.
"It's...it's you, Damon," I stuttered.
Boss the meeting has begin I could hear his assistant voice from the other side accompanied with beeping sound of my phone
I heard the assistant's voice from the other side of the door. "The meeting has begun."
My phone beeped, He has hung up.
My phone rang again. I glanced at the screen. My father's name flashed on the caller ID. I reluctantly answered.
"Clara, why haven't you answered my calls in months?" my father's voice boomed through the phone. "You think because you're married now, you can neglect your family?"
I countered, "Speaking of neglect, who's been neglecting family? If you have nothing to say I would hang up now.
My father's tone turned stern. "Clara, come home quickly. We need to talk."
I stood firm. "Whatever you want to say, say it now. I'm not coming."
My father's voice rose. "Clara, please! Be peaceful for once and come home."
I sneered and hung up the phone.
*******
In the Walter mansion
As I entered the Walter mansion, my stomach churned with unease. Even my baby seemed to sense the tension.
My father stood before me, his walking stick in hand, his face cold and unyielding.
My step-sister and mother clung to each other, their hands intertwined in a gesture that felt more like a calculated display than genuine affection.