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His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Twenty-Five: A Walk with My Father
POV: Liam
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I wasn't sure why I agreed to the walk.
Mum didn't force me.
She just said, "Your dad wants to spend some time with you today. Only if you're okay with it."
And I don't know — maybe I was curious.
Maybe I just wanted to see what he'd do.
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He was waiting outside with two ice creams.
One chocolate. One vanilla.
"I didn't know your favorite," he said, holding them both out.
I raised an eyebrow. "Vanilla."
He smiled. "Good. I hate chocolate."
I took the cone and started walking ahead of him, not saying much.
He followed.
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The street was quiet. Small shops, old benches. Westbrook wasn't a loud town.
It gave space for silence.
Which made this moment a little… awkward.
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"So…" he said, walking beside me. "You draw?"
I nodded.
"Your mum showed me one of your sketches. The superhero with the cape made out of books."
I blinked.
"You saw that?"
He nodded. "It was really good. Better than anything I could ever draw."
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A small smile tugged at my mouth, but I didn't let it grow.
"Do you like superheroes?" I asked after a beat.
"I used to," he said. "Batman was my favorite."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "He wasn't born special. No powers. Just hurt and anger and the choice to still fight."
I looked at him then.
He wasn't like I remembered from pictures. All neat and proud. He looked softer now. A little tired.
But more real.
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"I like that," I said.
He smiled.
"I like yours too. Bookman, right?"
I grinned. "His power is reading people. Literally. He touches them and sees a chapter of their life."
"That's… awesome," he said, genuinely.
And for a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be mad.
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We walked in silence a bit more.
A dog barked across the street.
A couple laughed as they passed us.
Normal things.
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"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.
I turned to look at him.
"For what?"
"For not being there," he said. "For missing everything."
I didn't say anything.
I didn't know how to.
"I should've been around," he continued. "To teach you how to ride a bike. Help with homework. Fight off monsters under your bed."
I gave a small shrug. "Mum did all that."
"I know," he said softly. "And I respect her even more because of it."
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We sat on a bench near the small park.
My ice cream was half-melted. His was already gone.
He looked nervous. Like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands.
I found that funny.
How could someone so big seem so… unsure?
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"Do you want me to be your dad?" he asked suddenly. "Like… really be there?"
I was quiet for a long time.
"I don't know," I finally said.
He nodded. "That's fair."
"I mean, I'm used to it just being me and Mum. I don't want her sad again."
"She won't be," he promised. "Not if I can help it."
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I turned toward him.
"I remember one time," I said, "when I was five, Mum was crying in the kitchen. I asked her why, and she said it was the onions."
His jaw tightened.
"But there were no onions," I whispered. "I checked."
He closed his eyes.
"I wish I could go back and be there. Stop that moment from happening."
"You can't," I said. "But maybe you can be here now."
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His eyes opened. "I want to."
I studied him. The way he sat. The way he didn't try too hard to be funny or force a smile.
He was just… here.
Trying.
And somehow, that meant something.
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"What do you do?" I asked. "Like for work?"
"I used to run a tech company."
"Used to?"
"I stepped back. I needed to figure out what actually matters."
I raised a brow. "And… me and Mum matter?"
"More than anything."
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I kicked a pebble on the path.
"I like comics," I said.
"I'll buy you every comic in Westbrook."
I smiled. "I meant… I'd like to make comics. Like real ones. Maybe draw Bookman's full story."
He looked impressed. "Then we'll do it."
"We?"
"I'll be your first fan," he said.
"Even if it's not perfect?"
"Especially if it's not perfect."
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We laughed.
And it wasn't forced.
It was warm.
Natural.
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The sun began to dip, painting the town in gold.
I didn't want to say it out loud, but this was the best afternoon I'd had in a long time.
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"I don't expect you to trust me right away," Damon said as we got up. "But I'm here. For every step. Every sketch. Every story."
I glanced at him.
"You're not so bad," I said with a smirk.
He laughed.
"High praise."
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When we got back to the gallery, Mum was waiting at the door.
She looked at me first — her eyes searching.
I gave a small nod.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Then she looked at Damon.
And smiled.
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