Father's Secret, Daughter's Ruin

Kassy’s POV

“You have to call off the engagement.”

My father didn’t ease into it. He didn’t clear his throat or soften the blow with small talk. He didn’t even look at Jamal when he said it. The words came out cold, absolute, like a verdict already decided long before this evening.

I blinked, convinced for half a second that I’d misheard him.

“I’m sorry… what?” I asked.

“You heard me,” he said, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “You cannot get married to him. I don’t want it.”

The room went unnaturally still. Jamal sat beside me on the couch, his posture stiffening, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching it, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to. I could feel his confusion radiating through the small space between us.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

I had imagined this moment a hundred different ways—my parents smiling politely, my mother asking wedding questions too soon, my father giving Jamal that measured, intimidating stare he reserved for important men. Disapproval, maybe. Hesitation, sure. But this? A flat-out rejection without explanation?

“Dad,” I said carefully, forcing my voice to stay calm. “You haven’t even talked to him.”

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “The answer is no.”

My mother shifted in her chair. “You can’t just say no,” she said, frowning. “At least explain yourself.”

My father turned to her, his expression hard. “There’s nothing to explain.”

I felt something sharp twist in my chest. “You’re not making sense,” I said. “Jamal hasn’t done anything wrong.”

He finally looked at me then, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath hitch. “You must call off the engagement, Kassy,” he said. “You cannot marry this man.”

The way he said this man made my skin prickle.

“Why?” I demanded.

Silence.

Not the awkward kind. Not the kind where someone is thinking. This was deliberate. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared at the wall like the conversation was already over.

“I asked you a question,” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “Why?”

He shook his head once. “No.”

That single word did something to me. It lit a fuse I didn’t know I had.

I stood up. “You don’t get to do this,” I said. “You don’t get to control my life with one word and zero reasons.”

“Kassy,” my mother warned.

“No,” I snapped, turning toward her briefly before facing my father again. “I’m not a child. You don’t just get to say no.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “Sit down.”

“I won’t,” I said. “Not until you tell me what your problem is.”

Jamal stood up then, slow and respectful. “Sir,” he said, his voice calm, steady. “If there’s something I’ve done—”

“This is not about you talking,” my father cut in sharply.

I turned on him. “Then what is it about?”

He opened his mouth, then stopped. His eyes flickered, like something passed through them—fear, maybe. Or regret.

That hesitation pushed me over the edge.

“I’m marrying him,” I said, every word deliberate. “Whether you like it or not.”

“You will not,” my father said, his voice rising.

“I will,” I shot back. “And if you want to disown me over it, go ahead.”

The word disown landed like a slap.

My mother gasped softly. Jamal reached for my arm, but I pulled away, my heart pounding too loudly to think straight.

“And if that’s still not enough,” I added, my voice shaking now but unyielding, “I’m pregnant. I’m carrying his child.”

The reaction was immediate—and nothing like I expected.

My father didn’t yell right away. He stumbled back instead, like the air had been knocked out of him. His hand grabbed the edge of the table, his face draining of color.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”

Then everything came apart.

He started shouting and crying at the same time, his voice cracking, words tumbling over each other in a way that made no sense. He dragged his hands through his hair, pacing the room like a trapped animal.

“This can’t be happening,” he yelled. “This can’t—”

“Dad!” I cried. “That’s why we’re getting married. That’s why I’m telling you.”

But he wasn’t hearing me. His breathing was erratic, his eyes glassy, wild. I had never seen my father like this. Never. The man who had always been solid, unshakable, suddenly looked like he was falling apart right in front of me.

“Tell me,” I begged, tears spilling over. “Tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me what’s wrong with Jamal.”

He stopped pacing.

Slowly, he turned toward me.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

Nothing came out.

He just stood there, staring at me, his lips trembling, his eyes filled with something that terrified me far more than his yelling ever could.

“Dad?” I whispered.

Silence.

I turned to my mother, my chest tight. “Mom, please.”

She stood up and went to him, placing a hand on his arm. Then she looked at me, her expression calm in a way that felt completely wrong.

“I trust your father’s decision,” she said.

I laughed—a short, broken sound that surprised even me. “Of course you do,” I said. “Of course.”

Jamal stepped forward. “I love your daughter,” he said quietly. “I’ve been good to her. I plan to take care of her and our child. If there’s something you’re afraid of, we can talk about it.”

My father shook his head slowly, refusing to look at him.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “You cannot marry him.”

This time, it didn’t sound like control.

It sounded like fear.

I stared at Jamal—the man who had been patient, gentle, unwavering. The man who had shown up for me every single time. None of this made sense. There was no version of reality where my father’s reaction fit the man standing beside me.

“We’re leaving,” I said.

My mother opened her mouth, but I didn’t wait. I grabbed my bag, my hands trembling, and walked toward the door. Jamal followed without a word.

At the doorway, I turned back.

My father had sunk into his chair, his face buried in his hands.

“You know something,” I said, my voice breaking. “Something you’re not telling me.”

He didn’t look up.

Outside, the night air hit my skin, cool and sharp. Jamal wrapped his arms around me, grounding me.

But even as I leaned into him, one thought refused to leave my mind.

Whatever my father knew about Jamal—it wasn’t small.

And it was powerful enough to make him break.