According to Hand; a statistician and an author, there's a Greek word 'apophenia', meaning the urge to make patterns when none really exist, So, we tell ourselves stories to try and make sense of a world of inevitable uncertainty. I do the same. I tell myself stories of how I became or of how my parents are. You'd think it was careless love or teenage boy drama in their years but no. Their love was pure, nothing but true. I forced my dad into telling me how they met. After he told me he said he never regretted loving my mum and why they are separated was his fault. On the other hand, my mum would say she was so stupid to think a man like my dad would ever be able to commit to anything not even his responsibility towards his daughter; to be present at all time…at least when she needed him most. If he couldn't do that then what did love mean to him as a husband. She was right. But there was one responsibility he fulfilled, he liberated me from the norms of the society that said this is that and this isn't that. He wanted me to be a different person and not a shadow of my mum's past, present and future. I respected him for that. Though, he hurt my mum. He destroyed every inch of happiness in her. He made her worse than she was. It's his fault I hate my mum. It's his fault she's this way. I mean if he had just not fallen out of love or whatever the hell he gave as an excuse and just stayed, then maybe we would have been happy, maybe we would have been a family.
Falling For The Chancellor's Son
Teen · monellawrites
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