Mark Henry Daughter Novels & Stories

he starts, but I cut him off, not wanting to hear any more. "Just go, Henry." I say, noticing out of the corner of my eye Mom's effort to hold Dad for a few more minutes. "Fine, but if you don't text me, I'll come after you." he says firmly, sounding very smug in his statement and if I didn't know that this is all just because he wants information about Aurora, I might even be fooling myself. "Nobody wants you here. Get out." Peter grumbles. Henrico pulls away from me, placing a kiss in my hair as he walks over to Peter and faces him, whispering something under his breath only for him to hear and then walks away, stopping two steps to look back.

I no longer expected anything from them. All the sincerity I had poured into them… I considered it thrown to the dogs. I wouldn’t pursue it anymore. Because I was dizzy, I underwent a brain CT scan. The results confirmed a mild concussion. Mira stared in disbelief. "Did your mom do this too?" I nodded bitterly. Instantly, outrage exploded across her face. "What kind of mother could be this cruel to her own daughter?!"

Why was he looking at her with such burning gaze? "What is wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" Quinn decided to stop acting formally around him. "What was your reason?" Henry grabbed her and pulled her towards him. He hugged her tightly, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "Pardon?" Quinn was surprised by his question. "Why did you hide the fact that Emelda is my daughter?" Henry asked hoarsely. "Your daughter? I think you must be mistaken, Henry." Quinn replied softly. "I am? Come with me." He grabbed her hands and pulled her upstairs with him.

Henry spoke his mind, "Ms. Sinclair is focused, reliable, and hardworking. She's also loyal, humble, and extremely kind." "Kind?" Arthur coldly scoffed as he looked at the glass bottle stuck in his left hand. He didn't think she was kind at all. It had been so many months, and she still hadn't removed the bottle for him. It was torture for him to grab it in his hand every day. Henry was in his 30s and had a teenage daughter. "My daughter loved her favorite celebrity so much that she would travel all the way to Haryndale just to catch a concert. She would always sing their songs and buy all the merchandise, not wanting to study at all. Now, she has a different idol, and that's Ms. Sinclair.

Henry Three Days Later “How is this possible?” My voice came out shaking despite my best efforts to control it. I stared down at the document in my hands, the DNA test results that David had just delivered, and felt the world tilting beneath my feet. Subject: Celeste Monroe. Relationship to Henry Parker: No genetic match found. Probability of paternity: 0% “She’s supposed to be my daughter,” I whispered, more to myself than to David. “I could feel it. I was so certain—”

she asked, her voice soft but laced with curiosity and a hint of anxiety. Damien placed the phone on the nightstand and turned to her. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, his young, beautiful stepdaughter, the woman he had claimed so thoroughly the night before. He reached out and pulled her back into his arms, her back pressed against his bare chest. “My son,” he said quietly, his large hand resting possessively on her stomach. “He’s been abroad for the last two years managing some of our European pack alliances. He’s coming home tomorrow.”

We were only talking. Dad turned a cold look on him. "You shut your mouth. "I'm telling you right now, if I see you near my daughter again, I'll call the police and report you for harassment." The classroom fell into a dead silence. Every classmate held their breath, their faces showing shock, pity, and curiosity. I bit my lip in humiliation and forced myself to speak. "Dad, this has nothing to do with Ethan..." The veins at Dad's temples bulged. "You still dare to argue? Getting bold now, are you?"

My hand shook on the doorknob. So that was the truth. I quietly stepped back and walked away. I stood by the window at the end of the hallway for a long time. The next day, relatives heard Mom was hospitalized and came to visit. The room was packed. Fruit baskets and flower bouquets filled every corner. Mom lay in bed dramatically talking about how hard she'd worked raising her two daughters. Sophie stood beside her, carefully helping her drink water. The perfect mother-daughter scene. Once everyone had gathered, I cleared my throat. "Since the whole family's here, tell me if this sounds fair."

He shut up. Good. She stepped inside without waiting for permission. Caleb sputtered behind her. “This is my—Amara, you can’t just—” “I know, Caleb.” Her voice was ice. “I know everything.” His face drained. “W‑what are you talking about?” She turned slowly, eyes burning. “The baby you told me died,” she said, each word measured, lethal. “The child you said I lost.” She stepped closer. “My daughter.” Caleb’s breath hitched. “Amara—listen—”

A procession of somber figures in black filed in. At the forefront was a woman with silver-streaked hair, clutching a photo in a black frame. The girl in the picture beamed, her smile as bright as Evelyn's. "My daughter, Melody Rogers, was Frank's student, too," the woman's voice broke. "He conned her into stealing my credit card and transferring him thirty-four thousand five hundred bucks. Once he had the money, he dumped her. Overwhelmed, she jumped from a building last year. She was just nineteen."