Romans & histoires Our Father Who Art In Heaven

M̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶f̶u̶l̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶r̶u̶n̶ ̶a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ S̶i̶m̶i̶l̶a̶r̶i̶t̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ Everyone is here. All your sisters and half siblings. Trying to spend as much as time together with your father. He has lived his life and is almost at a point where he shall depart from the living. We all ought to be there. You as well, my son. To spend our last days together as a family like the good old days. Your father misses you to the bone even though C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶

I took off the empty pendant she used to wear and placed it around my own neck. I leaned over her coffin, too weak to stand. Mourners held white roses but didn’t know what to do. Steve stepped forward, placed the plush wolf by Lena’s ear, then took charge, guiding the ceremony when I couldn’t. By the time the coffin was sealed, I had cried until I had no more tears left. Steve led the funeral. Lena’s father never showed up. But through our frayed mind-link, I felt it—He is happy now. He’d severed our bond to silence me before, but now, when I least wanted it, the connection flickered back.

If he told them that Licking his Feet would get them into Heaven, they'd do it without a second thought. My gaze moved to my Father, who was smiling sheepishly like a college girl. “He’s a Good man.” My father mummured beside me.” You’ll learn a lot from him.” He smiled. “Good man?” I scoffed. “ I know a Fake when I see one.” My father gave me a sharp look. “ Don’t speak Evil about a Servant of God. “ “What Kind of Servant of God serves Stale food to children?” I asked, raising my brows.

The wooden doors creaked when pushed open. The scent hit me instantly—incense, old wood, candle wax. And there he was. Kneeling at the altar. Praying. My father. Ezreal let out a quiet huff behind me. Then he chuckled. Low. Sharp. My father turned. For a split second, he didn’t recognize us. Then his eyes locked on Ezreal. “You’re a fucking hypocrite,” Ezreal said evenly. “Do you know that?” The words echoed against the stone walls. My father froze. I stared at him. He looked older than fifty. Much older. His shoulders were slightly hunched.

My mom came in while holding my dad’s hand. The sound of her heels clacking on the floor struck fear in everyone’s hearts. My dad looked around before fixing his gaze on Coral. “Were you the one who said Nina seduced me? What a joke. Nina is my daughter!”

He looked at the ceiling, then slowly, with a grace that seemed both new and ancient, he turned his head. His gaze found Elena. It lingered on her face, curious, unafraid. Then it moved to Lucas. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. He tried to speak. His voice was a dry rasp, unused for decades. He coughed, and a trickle of the preservation fluid spilled from his lips. The word he finally managed was not “hello.” It was not “help.” It was a name. “Father,” Aether whispered, his violet eyes locking not on Lucas, but on Arthur Cross, who stood frozen in utter, world-shattering shock.

When I realized my soulmate Darius was still hung up on his former lover Cassia and her child, I started teaching our son to call him "Lord Darius." That night, Theo accidentally stepped into a thorn trap set by forest nymphs. He was poisoned by a minor curse that sent his magic spiraling out of control and plunged him into darkness. But Darius turned and left because Cassia called him on his messaging crystal late at night. I touched my son's forehead as his divine aura dimmed from the pain, and made him say, "Goodbye, Lord." On Theo's birthday, Darius skipped our celebration because Cassia tearfully complained that her child needed a father. I didn't say much. I just had little Theo e

I watched it move across her face… the flicker of recognition, the complicated grief that came with any new piece of her mother's life slotting into place. She looked away for a second, jaw working. Then her phone rang. She checked the screen. Unknown number. Her eyes came up to mine before she answered… a reflex she probably didn't realize she'd developed, checking my read before committing to something. I nodded slightly. She answered on speaker. The voice was calm. Older. An accent layered underneath the English—something Eastern European, something old. "Aria Torres. Your father is safe. He is being cared for." Aria's hand tightened on the phone. I stayed completely still.

I was wrong. A few days passed. I tried to gather myself, trying to survive the shame and the heartbreak. One afternoon, while walking in the city market, I heard a familiar voice call out. "Selene?" I turned around. There stood Adrian, arm in arm with Elara. But beside them stood an older man—tall, broad-shouldered, hair streaked with gray, sharp intimidating eyes, and wearing an expensive tailored suit. It was Adrian’s father. Don Lorenzo. One of the richest, most powerful, and most feared men in the country.

Mark isn't my friend, but I can tolerate him more a little, which will help if I ever let Sam go. Goodbye Father, stand by me, Above the clouds forever free, Always brave, and always true, It's my time to remember you, Goodbye Father, I'm your blood, The waterfall defeated you like a flood, Always in my memory as I sleep, It's time for me to let myself weep, Goodbye Father, remember me, Always my hero, forever free...