Father Of Novels & Stories

"Whether he mistreats her or not isn't proven by what he says. It's proven by what he has done over the last five years." That person froze. The entire office fell dead silent. The teacher looked at me as if she wanted to ask me something, but she ultimately kept it to herself and placed my withdrawal application at the corner of her desk. I turned on my heel and left the office. The school corridor stretched out ahead of me. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, creating a checkered pattern of light and dark across the linoleum floor. When I walked past the Wall of Fame, I caught the photograph prominently displayed in the center. My father, Ian Smith, stood to one side while his stepso

The blissful bubble we had created during the early days of summer shattered far too soon. Theo received a call from his father late one afternoon while we were secretly tangled together in the guest room. Uncle Kael needed him back in the city for a couple of urgent family business matters—something about contracts and a meeting that couldn’t be postponed. Theo tried to negotiate staying longer, but the tone in his father’s voice left no room for argument.

He'd mentioned several reasons why he had to hide the truth from me, including the claim of protecting my mental health and keeping me physically safe as well, but did that change the fact that the one who impregnated his mother that gave birth to him, was the very person who caused the death of my own parents? The one who drove me to this world was neutralized by the one who drove him to this world. That was absolutely insane to think about, but then again, quietening my mind was the right next step to keep insanity away. I wouldn't have been an orphan if I had learnt about his father's cruel nature. I would have warned my parents so sternly they wouldn't drive any cars till the issue is re

The statement surprised me. I blinked. "What?" My father had always been presented as a youth hockey coach who occasionally handled bookkeeping for local businesses. An ordinary man. A good man. A simple man. The image had remained consistent my entire life. Evelyn's expression hardened. "Your father specialized in forensic accounting." The room became quiet again. A strange pressure settled in my chest. My father. The man who made pancakes shaped like hockey sticks. The man who cried when I scored my first goal. The man who always smelled faintly of coffee and winter air.

“Who?” “Your father.”

It was six. I know my father is Leander Voss, who runs a large company. My friend Jin asked me once if my dad was the Leander Voss. I said yes, and he said wow. I told him Papa makes good pancakes on Saturdays. Jin thought about this and said that was a more useful thing to know than anything on the internet. I agreed.

A tool for Vincent. My father's son.

Sophia said, and I was very confused at her statement "Let me explain, you see a man can be a father but not every man that is a father can be a dad" Sophia said as her gaze moved over three of us, "a father does the basic things for his child, like provide food, shelter and other things but a dad will provide all those things and even more but most importantly make sure their children are happy and well" "Oh, i see, then both my fathers were never my dad then because one left my mother and the other was an asshole," I said, and a sad smile formed on Sophia's face

There in front of him was standing Sebastian's father, "Harrison Macaulay (Mac-O-lee) Knight." (Harrison Macaulay Knight: The name itself demands respect, father of Sebastian, loves his son to the core. A caring yet extra possessive father, he ruled the world of business like a true king, till his son didn't take over his place. Till today people get afraid after hearing his name in the business world.

QUINN "Quinn, Quinn, have you listened to a single word I've said?" My father's booming voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked at him dumbfounded. Theo Harper — short for Theophilus— was a man everyone knew. He made his money through architecture for the most part. My father had opened his architectural firm when he was no less than thirty years of age. It was a massive achievement on his part — coming from a family with no wealth and rising to someone who had money spewing out of his ears. He had completely forgotten his roots though, letting money go to his head.