Mommy

Gadis kecil itu hanya tergugu dalam isak tangisnya yang dari tadi tidak bisa berhenti, seorang laki-laki seumuran daddynya memeluknya. Tangannya membelai surai indah milik gadis cilik itu dengan lembut dan penuh kasih sayang, rambut indah sewarna dengan rambut indah mantan istrinya. Rambut ikal berwarna brunnete yang panjangnya sepinggang gadis cilik tersebut. “Sttt... sayang, sudah ya nangisnya... Papa Aby jadi ikut sedih nih.” Akhirnya Pria paruh baya itu merayu gadis kecil itu supaya berhenti menangis. Karena saat ini mereka sudah jadi pusat perhatian orang orang yang berada di bandara JFK saat ini. “Pa... kenapa sih nggak ada yang percaya sama Cia, kenapa mereka lebih percaya sama kak Angel. Bukan aku yang nusuk Kak Rora, sungguh pa...aku sayang sama kak Rora, bagaimana aku sanggup menyakitinya?” isaknya lagi. Allicia Abigail Klein Aku Angela Jennar, anak satu satunya dari Jessica Jennar. Sejak mommyku meninggal, dihatiku hanya ada dendam buat orang orang yang sudah menyakiti mommyku. cita-citaku hanyalah membuat mereka semua dan keluarganya menderita seperti yang aku dan mommyku rasakan. Dan kesempatanku semakin terbuka lebar karena keluarga itu malah mengangkatku sebagai putri mereka, mereka sangat baik padaku, bahkan mereka merawatku dengan penuh kasih sayang layaknya putri mereka sendiri, mereka membiayai pengobatanku dan membuatku sembuh dari penyakit yang kubawa sejak aku dalam kandungan mommy, aku tidak terlalu mengerti. Kebaikan mereka tak membuatku menyurutkan dendamku, bahkan aku semakin muak pada sikap munafik mereka. Akan kubuat kalian kehilangan kecintaan kalian berdua, anak anak kalian... Angela Jennar Aku kembali ke New york, demi menjemput gadisku, gadis kecilku yang bermata biru, aku jatuh cinta pertama kali dengannya. Seperti janjiku dulu setelah aku dewasa aku akan menemuinya kembali, tapi kesalah pahaman menghalagi hubungan kami, mampukah aku meluluhkan hatinya yang dilanda kecewa... Hei... gadis kecilku dengan mata yang mampu menghipnotisku... kau milikku... milik Marc!! Marcus Dexter.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."