<h4>Chapter 64: I Am Your...</h4>


    <strong>Diane’s POV</strong>


    Andrew was still in the same position as when I’d left him, head in hands.


    "Is someone going to say something?" I demanded, looking between Andrew and my mother. Silence. Not a word.


    Anger surged through me. I stood up and mmed my hand against the table, startling everyone in the living room. "Fucking say something!"


    Andrew rose from his seat and moved toward me. I turned to see my mother sitting on the stairs, ring at him with undisguised disgust.


    "Diane," Andrew said softly, cing a hand on my shoulder and gently guiding me to sit down while he remained standing. Tears began streaming down his face.


    "Diane, I am your father."


    My eyes widened in shock as I gasped.


    "What?"


    Andrew’s voice broke as he continued. "I left long ago, when you were just three years old and your sister was just a few months old. I had... gambling issues. When I gambled our house away, I couldn’t bear the shame of being the reason my family was homeless."


    He paused, wiping at his tears. "So I left to start over again without my family, which was very stupid of me. I came back yearster, but Helena—your mother—kept moving, not wanting me near my daughters because she was still hurt."


    "No," I said, the denial automatic. "That’s not possible. My father is dead. He died when I was three."


    My mother made a sound—part sob, part bitterugh. "He’s not dead, Diane. He left us."


    I turned to her, incredulous. "You told me he died in a car ident. You showed me the obituary!"


    "I know," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I lied. It was easier than telling you and Sophie the truth—that he abandoned us because of his gambling. That he chose his addiction over his family."


    Andrew flinched as if struck. "That’s not fair, Helena. It was a disease. I was sick."


    "Sick?" she countered, years of pain evident in her voice. "You gambled away our home. Everything we had. You left me with two little children and nothing else. Not once in twenty-nine years did you try to make amends."


    "I tried to get help," Andrew argued, his calm fa?ade cracking. "By the time I was in recovery, you’d disappeared with the girls. I couldn’t find you."


    "Stop it!" I shouted, pressing my hands to my temples. The twins kicked violently, responding to my stress. "Just... stop it."


    The room fell silent. I took several deep breaths, trying to process this revtion that had shattered the foundation of my life in a single moment.


    "If you’re my father," I said atst, turning to Andrew, "why now? Whye back into my life after all this time?"


    Andrew hesitated, ncing at my mother. "It took me years to get clean, Diane. Years of rehab, rpses, more rehab. By the time I was stable enough to be a father, you and Sophie were teenagers. I tried to find you, but your mother had changed yourst names, moved to a different state."


    "And you thought waiting until I was pregnant and divorcing my so-called cheat of a husband was the right time to resurface?" I asked, disbelief coloring my tone.


    "No," he said quickly. "That was a coincidence. The ident brought us together. I never knew, and knowing who I had knocked down was pregnant, I couldn’t walk away. Not when you needed help."


    A sudden thought struck me, and my blood ran cold. "The ck car that followed us today—was that you? Did you send someone to follow us?"


    Andrew’s expression shifted from confusion to rm. "ck car? What are you talking about?"


    "Today, at the farmers market," I exined, my voice rising. "Someone followed us in a ck sedan. The driver wore a hoodie and pointed a gun at us. Are you responsible for that?"


    "My God, Diane, no!" Andrew looked genuinely shocked, his face paling. "I would never—I had no idea. Are you all right? When did this happen?"


    "This morning," Joan interjected, studying Andrew’s reaction carefully. "You seem surprised."


    "Of course I’m surprised! Someone threatened my daughter with a gun?" Andrew ran a hand through his hair, distress evident in every movement. "This has nothing to do with me, I swear. But it might have something to do with Liam."


    My mother, who had been watching this exchange with a peculiar expression, suddenly spoke up. "It’s not the first time we’ve been watched."


    All heads turned toward her.


    "What do you mean?" I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.


    She twisted her hands in herp, avoiding my gaze. "At the park the other day, when we had our pic. I saw someone watching us. A man in a dark jacket, standing by the trees. He was staring directly at us—at you, specifically."


    I felt as if I’d been doused with ice water. "The park? When you suddenly got quiet and said you thought you saw someone you knew? That was someone watching us?"


    She nodded, guilt evident in her expression. "I didn’t want to frighten you. You’ve been under so much stress with the pregnancy, and I thought... I thought maybe I was being paranoid."


    "Paranoid?" I echoed incredulously. "Someone was stalking us, and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning? Even after what happened today? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you even my mother?"


    The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them, but the pain and fear of betrayal were too fresh to retract them.


    "Diane," my mother began, tears welling in her eyes.


    "No," I cut her off. "I can’t believe this. First, you lie to me my entire life about my father being dead, and now you hide the fact that someone is stalking us? What else aren’t you telling me?"


    I turned to Andrew. "That’s why you’ve been calling, isn’t it? To finally tell me who you really are?"


    Andrew nodded, misery etched into his features. "I couldn’t keep lying to you. And with the babiesing... I wanted to be part of your life, part of their lives. But I had no idea about anyone following you. This is deeply concerning."


    "Concerning?" Iughed bitterly. "That’s an understatement. My life is falling apart around me, and I don’t even know who to trust anymore."


    I turned back to my mother, the betrayal still raw. "How can you hide something so important from me?"


    My mother’s eyes filled with tears. "You were both so young when he left. You kept asking when Daddy wasing home, crying yourself to sleep. Sophie started acting out at school. The questions would have continued forever. I couldn’t bear it. And then you started talking about him in the past tense, and it just... happened. The lie became easier than the truth."


    Joan, who had been silent during much of this conversation, ced a gentle hand on my arm. "Diane, do you need a minute? Some water?"


    I shook my head, though my throat was parched and my head pounded. There were too many questions left unanswered to pause now.


    "So when you found out about me, why didn’t you tell me who you were all this while?" I asked Andrew. "Why keep up this charade of being a concerned stranger?"


    He shifted ufortably. "I was afraid. Afraid you’d reject me on the spot if you knew the truth. That you’d want nothing to do with me. I thought if I could help you first, prove myself in some way..."


    "So you manipted me," I said tly. "You pretended to be someone else while hiding your true identity."


    Andrew winced. "I didn’t see it that way. I was trying to help you, to protect you from Liam. To be the father I should have been all those years ago."


    "By lying to me? Just like she did?" I gestured toward my mother, whose tears now flowed freely down her cheeks.


    "We both made mistakes," my mother said softly. "Terrible ones. But I thought I was doing what was best for you and Sophie."


    "Best for us?" I echoed, anger rising like a tide. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up believing your father is dead? To invent memories of him because you have none of your own? To watch other girls dance with their fathers at school events while you ce flowers on an empty grave?"


    My mother flinched, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a sob.


    "And you," I turned to Andrew. "Do you know what it’s like to discover that your whole life has been built on a lie? That the man who’s been ’helping’ you is actually your father ying some twisted game?"


    "It wasn’t a game," Andrew protested, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you, Diane. You’re my daughter. I’ve missed so much of your life already—your graduations, your wedding. I didn’t want to miss the birth of my grandchildren too."


    The word ’grandchildren’nded like a physical blow. I ced a protective hand over my belly, suddenly aware of how this revtion would affect not just me, but my children as well.


    "What about Sophie?" I asked suddenly. "Does she know any of this? That you’re alive?"


    Andrew’s expression darkened with sadness. "No. I haven’t been able to locate her."


    "She can be dead for all I care," I said. "That backstabbing little bitch."


    "Another consequence of my actions," Andrew said softly. "Two daughters, both lost to me in different ways."


    I felt a stab of sympathy despite my anger. Whatever his failings—and they were many—he seemed genuinely remorseful.


    "You should have told me the truth from the beginning," I said, exhaustion settling over me. "Both of you."


    "You’re right," Andrew admitted. "I was a coward then, and I’ve been a coward since the ident. I kept telling myself I was waiting for the right moment. I’d made up my mind to tell you the truth. When the call kept breaking up, I thought maybe it was a sign to do it in person. That’s why I agreed to dinner so quickly. I knew it was time."


    Joan, who had been observing with herwyer’s eye for detail, now spoke, her voice gentle but firm.


    "I think we all need some time to process this. It’s been an emotional evening, and Diane shouldn’t be under this much stress in her condition."


    I shot her a grateful look.


    My mother reached across the space between us, her hand hovering uncertainly before retreating to herp. "Can you ever forgive me, Diane? For the lie? I thought—I truly believed—it would hurt less than knowing he chose to leave."


    I closed my eyes, too drained to sustain my anger. "Did you ever n to tell us the truth?"


    "I don’t know," she admitted. "After so many years, it seemed kinder to let you believe what you’d always believed."


    Her response seemed to fuel my anger as I just sat there, bowing my head and cupping it with my hands, trying to wrap my mind around the chaos that surrounded me.


    All of a sudden, I stood up, anger ring as my breathing became heavy. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at my mother, then at my father.


    "For over two decades you abandoned us," I said, my voice trembling with rage. "I was three years old when you left. By the time I was eight, I couldn’t even remember what you fucking looked like anymore. So when she told me you died in an ident, I had no choice but to believe what she said."


    I took a step closer to Andrew, my body shaking.


    "You weren’t there for me!"


    "You died when I was little!"


    "You’ve been dead to me all my life!"


    I hesitated, pointing my fingers at Andrew now, my voice breaking. "And now... you are still dead to me!"


    I turned away, slowing in my tracks as I approached the stairs where my mom sat. I shot her a wicked re as I walked past her, anger propelling me up the stairs to my room.


    Behind me, I could hear the muffled sounds of sobbing, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. The truth had shattered everything I thought I knew, and I needed space to pick up the pieces of my life—alone.