Lies My Father Told Me Mga Nobela at Kwento

"So what? Johnson has made plenty of trash before. If you expect me to throw money at you based on words, you’re crazy." My father smirked, rubbing his hands together. "Then allow me to share a…personal testimony. After all, I too have benefited from this miracle drug." My stomach dropped into a black abyss. "What do you mean?" Asher asked, frowning. "I had a similar experience," my father said, his tone casual—as if telling a joke. "There was a woman once. No matter how much I loved her, she never looked my way. No matter what I did, she ignored me."

minutes hours passed I woke up on the couch with my mom holding my hand, and asked me,- my dear you are fine, I opened my eyes to wander and or I saw my father say, - she woke up -mom what happened, - good kris you passed out if it weren't for your teacher arriving with your father you would have been hurt, at this time I remembered him and why I had passed out, - that was it, - but he's always around to hold you, dear, it seems like he even knows how you feel, I heard that made me think, um if my country knew the story, I heard the voice, - she and a sleeping beauty who always falls asleep, I almost died of hearing his voice at my house I started to feel sick, coughing and I had choked, my

my brain ran in flashback to recall all the things happened to me from my home to admitting my parents , to my marriage to my current life . I closed my eyes to push back tears , I don't want to say truth to my father right now but I have to because to hide one truth I have to say hundred lie but even after that truth will come out in unexpected way and I don't want it , so , it will be better if I spell truth . " I don't know father " I said not knowing if Girik did it or not but he still believes me as his culprit . " hmm means he just left you without any harm right ? " my father asked again in shock .

“Ah yes, of course. I remember. And you mean to tell me my father was that cold-blooded killer? My father?” I gulp. “I grew up being told it was.” He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in all my life! My father isn’t a killer. How dare you? Is there one thing that came out of your mouth that wasn’t a lie?”

My breaths were coming out in heavy pants. “Also, that was the very first day I saw the strong-willed man, Shaam—your father cry, holding you very tenderly in his arms," he told me. The mind-boggling information was too detailed to be a lie. My eyes brimmed with tears suddenly at that certain sentence. Because I knew what he said was true. I had been told the tale by my mother many times till I could have counted. He was telling the truth. Unless and until someone knew my parents personally, no one could have predicted this. Minus the part where he was added in the picture, everything he told me was what my mother used to tell me as a bedtime story. It wasn't a lie when he said it.

“Tell Liam… his father died loving him. Loving you.” And then the fire takes me.

" My mind raced. Fragments of memories. My father ' s voice. Distant. Fading. What would he have used? What could a seven year old remember? Then it hit me. The lullaby. The song from the music box. The one he sang to me every night before bed. "Wait, " I said. "I think, I think I know. " "Tell me. " "Not tell. Sing. The password is a song. " "What song?" "The lullaby. From my music box. My father sang it to me. Every night. It'

My father’s blood. It was too much.

Even if I had to become someone terrible to make it happen. My mother was the first one to break. Her legs gave out beneath her as if all the strength had been ripped from her body at once, and she collapsed onto the floor with a dull sound. Her face went ghostly pale, her lips trembling as she tried to process everything she had just heard. Apollo’s father stood frozen nearby, his posture stiff, his expression distant, like he was trapped underwater and the world around him was moving too slowly. His eyes widened as he looked at me, disbelief written clearly across his face.

But the thought of sleeping in the sheets that had never known dirt or ash made me feel like an intruder. I thought of my mother and how she died in a bed with an itchy blanket, and then I remembered how she was thrown into a fire and discarded like she was nothing more than rubbish. Anger coiled at the pit of my stomach, and bile rose in my throat. Was it true that she once knew this man? Was my father truly his friend? Could King Lucian Orion be trusted? ….