Father Daughter

I knew he was my friend’s father. I knew it was insane. But my feet took me anyway, mile after mile, to his door.

He knew exactly what he was doing beneath that blanket. And I chose not to pull away. What came after changed our dynamic forever.

She came into the office in an old T-shirt with nothing underneath, biting an olive and looking at me like she’d spent months waiting for me to give in first.

She showed him the photos with a nervous smile. It took him three seconds to understand what he was looking at, and three more to decide he wasn’t going to stop.

I came home from university exhausted and flopped onto the bed without even taking off my shoes. I don’t know how long I slept. When I opened my eyes, he was already sitting beside me.

I subscribed without thinking. It was her face, her body, her voice. And I, her father, couldn’t look away from the screen.

I was eighteen, and my body wanted more than it could give. That night I walked into the living room in a nightgown and told my father exactly what I needed.

When I stepped into the living room, she was waiting on the sofa with that smile no one could mistake anymore. And upstairs, on the stairs, someone listened in silence.

That night I walked into the living room with my heart racing. I knew what I wanted and I knew he wanted it too. All that was left was to make the first move.

Bruno would take our parents back to the city and I’d stay behind alone. What no one expected was that Sunday lunch would end like that.