What Happens To Edgar'S Father In 'The Story Of Edgar Sawtelle'?

After Vanessa moved into the estate, Mommy stopped fighting with Daddy. Her wolf was getting weaker. I think Mommy was going to the moon. Grandma had left me that way too. Daddy saw us in the hall, his face dark. His voice came out flat. “Fiona, you don't want Serena growing up in a broken home, do you?” Mommy didn't cry and shout at him the way she used to. She just held me, her voice soft. “Wire me a hundred million and I'll stay out of your way.” Daddy froze for a second. Then he transferred the money. After that, Daddy slept in Vanessa's room most nights, and Mommy kept asking him for more. She got so thin, and she wouldn't eat. She took my hand and brought me to a dozen different offices and made me sign papers. She said she was leaving everything to me. I buried my face in her chest. “Mommy, if you're tired, go find Grandma. I'll be good.”

My mother was my father’s sugar baby. Every year, he would hold her in his arms and promise, “Wait for me. Next year, I’ll marry you.” He said it for five years. In the end, he married a woman from his own social circle instead. My mother never got the wedding she dreamed of. After that, she became unstable and cruel. She used me as a way to get my father’s attention. “Go. Call your father and tell him you’re sick. Tell him to come see you.” But my father only frowned and yelled at me. “You’re already learning to lie from your mother at such a young age? Always haunting me like this. Disgusting.” They blamed all the anger they had for each other on me. Later, my father’s wife gave birth to a son. He became the perfect husband and father in everyone’s eyes. My mother only grew worse. She hit me harder and harder, all just to make my father come look at her once. When I was seven, I fell down the stairs and broke my leg. I begged my mother to take me to the hospital. She slapped me hard across the face. “What are you pretending for? You fall once and suddenly your leg is broken? You’re just like your irresponsible father. You were born to make me suffer.” My father rushed over, but he only shoved my mother to the floor in irritation. “If you use this little bastard to fake being sick and trick me again, don’t expect another cent from me.” Their screams and sobs tangled together. I lay on the cold floor, slowly losing consciousness. This time, could they finally stop fighting?

A month before my marking ceremony with Jim Luther, my dad, Frank Jackson, was exiled. Jim personally ordered him exiled to the wasteland without even explaining anything to me. "Kelly says someone leaked our pack's secret files, and we found them on your father's phone. Who else could it be?" My dad had come to attend my marking ceremony, yet because of what Kelly Chase said, Jim exiled him. "If you don't give me a reasonable explanation, he'll stay in the wasteland forever. "I won't abandon you just because of your father's actions. Our marking ceremony will proceed as planned in a month." I was devastated by the thought of my dad suffering in the wasteland. If this was how Jim treated my family and me, I didn't want to be with him anymore.

My dad is a rich scion who has been kidnapped to a compound. He keeps telling me that he'll escape with me since I was a little kid. When I was six years old, Dad made all the preparations to escape. He planned on leaving the compound with me. But I didn't hesitate to expose Dad's plans to my grandma just for a piece of bread. While I munched on the bread happily, Dad got strung up on a tree and whipped mercilessly by others. He glared at me resentfully while screaming at me for being a bastard. Hearing his cursing made me sad. I couldn't understand why Dad wanted to leave this home. Three days later, Dad killed himself by smashing his head against a boulder. After Mom got drunk, she accidentally beat me to death. As I felt my life slipping away, I finally understood what Dad meant. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Dad wants to escape. But I choose to expose his plans to Grandma once again.

After Mom passes away, Dad brings home a stepmother. Dad says he doesn't want me growing up in a broken home and wants to make sure I never miss out on anyone's love. Even after they have a daughter, Bella Fraser, I remain the spoiled little prince of the family. One day, I accidentally put Bella's clothes on backward, and she starts crying, struggling to breathe. Dad snaps, completely losing his usual gentle demeanor. "I knew it! No matter how good I am to you, you're always going to resent Bella! Are you trying to destroy this family?" He shoves me out onto the balcony, telling me to stay there and think about what I've done. But he pushes me too hard, and the tiled floor is slick with winter ice. I lose my footing instantly. I slip right through the wide gaps in the railing and end up hanging from the colorful bunting from Bella's birthday party yesterday. The string wraps tightly around my neck. My breath cuts short, and I can't even squeeze out a scream. After a few desperate kicks, my strength completely fades. I watch as Dad and Mom carry Bella out for a trip while my soul weeps tears of blood. Mom, Dad, it hurts so bad. Please, just turn around and look at me.

“It’s all right, Don Moretti. Go take care of your other child.” My six-year-old son raised one small hand and waved goodbye to his father. Matteo froze. For twenty-eight days, I had been teaching Luca to call him Don Moretti instead of Papa. It started the night Luca was burning with fever. Bianca Bellini sent word that her son was crying for Matteo, and my husband left our sick child without looking back. I held Luca against my chest and whispered, “Say goodnight to Don Moretti.” A week later, Matteo promised to attend Luca’s school presentation. Bianca sent for him again. Tommy had no father to sit beside him, she said. The other boys would laugh. Matteo went. I placed a sheet of paper in front of Luca and handed him a pen. “Write to your teacher,” I said. “Tell her Don Moretti will not be coming.” Every time Luca used the title, he hesitated. Sometimes the words took so long to leave his mouth that I nearly told him he could still call Matteo Papa. Then came the Moretti succession dinner. Matteo had promised to present Luca before every capo and elder, name him as his chosen heir, and give him a permanent seat at the Moretti table. Luca counted the days for two weeks. But outside the estate, Bianca’s driver stopped us with another message. Tommy was crying because the other children said he had no father. Pity crossed Matteo’s face. Before he could explain, Luca waved goodbye. “It’s all right, Don Moretti. Go take care of your other child.” Then he slipped his hand into mine. “Mom and I don’t need a seat at the Moretti table anymore.”