The brunette couldnât help but chuckle, he was right after all. âGood thing Iâm not the kind of girl to trip twice over the same stone, huh?â She was aware of how they had made Frida, she still remembered the countless times the two had followed the steps to make a baby during that time there had been nothing but the two of them. Unexperienced, stupid kids who thought they had life all figured out, who thought staring fresh somewhere new without help and without the proper education was a good idea. Stupid kids that were madly, deeply in love with each other. There was a time where Michelle would look at Ian and she would see a home, the warmth of a fireplace in the cold Montreal mornings, even when they did not physically own one â she would see the best friend she could have ever asked for, her confidante, her guardian, her lover. The moment he got into his fancy vehicle, she took a moment to look at him ââ nothing. She was sitting in an unknown car next to someone who was no more than a stranger, although there was still a sharp stinging in her chest; nostalgia, probably. She saw a strong, sweaty, happy, wealthy and heartless jerk, handsome as ever, but she didnât know him at all. All she knew was that she was inevitably tied to him forever, no escape route, no emergency exit. Frida would force their paths to cross constantly for the rest of her life. The brunette then realized she hadnât stopped looking ââ she offered him a sad, brief smile, and proceeded to look out the window and allowed the soft music from the radio block both her thoughts and his voice, if he ever spoke up. He knew where to go, more or less. A couple of weeks ago she had revealed to him the general location of her small, frigid apartment. Once they had reached the street she had used as reference when she explained, she spoke again. âYou have to make a left in two blocks.â She muttered softly, almost under her breath. She knew they were close, and⊠It just didnât feel fair. To get out of the car and wave goodbye without letting him ââ yeah. It was unfair to keep Frida away from her father. The girl had always wanted to meet him, she always asked about him when she was younger, until she didnât anymore. Michelle only supposed she had reached an age where she came to terms with the fact that her father was not going to show up â but he had. So it was unfair. She realized the car had stopped moving then, and he was probably waiting for the next instruction, but there wasnât any. They were there, a small building, nothing out of the ordinary. With a peek out the window, Michelle saw Fridaâs light was on. And she sighed, closed her eyes and wished she was somewhere else entirely. âSheâs turning eleven in September 7th. Her middle name is Marie, half after your mother, half after the scientist â it kind of fits like a glove, too, because she loves science so much. Yellow is her favorite color and she still sleeps with this stuffed monkey I bought for her before she was born. SheâŠâ A sad sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes opened slowly, meeting his blue, darker under the poorly lit streetlamp. âShe really wants to meet you, so⊠If you wanna⊠Be my guest.â
Ian let out a light chuckle at her words, pretending it meant much less than it actually did. He knew that the romantic aspect of their relationship had long been over; never again would he hold her at night or run his hands through her hair. That was over. And it was only his fault. There was no one else to blame for it. He should have come back sooner, right after he'd been freed of all that risky business. He should've come back five years ago when he was able to, but instead he felt like he needed to prove himself. He felt like he needed to come back a man with a career, not a boy barely freed from his ghosts. But now..Now, his only part in her life was as the father of her child, and that would have to be enough. It was, or that's what he told himself as he clicked on the radio to drown out his own thoughts. The song was slow and peaceful, the kind of music that makes the world slow down as you drive through empty city streets at night.
"Here," he announced as he stopped the car. The building was clearly very old and in poor condition. The bricks on the outside looked as though they were covered in a thick moss and a few of the lower windows had carboard over them. It set him on edge to think that they lived in such a run-down place, even with Michelle working too-long days. He was about to say something, but she began speaking instead. Random facts about their daughter -- he was especially surprised about Frida's middle name -- escaped the woman's lips. He was grateful to know more, anything was enough, but he was anxious as to know what her true motives between this outburst were. And then she invited him in. And he could feel his heart stop. And when it began again, it was pounding harder in his chest than it ever had -- or at least since the last time he'd been with Michelle, because it always seemed to pump harder around her. "Yes," he blurted too quickly. "I mean...absolutely. Yes. But it's a school night and it's late so I...I shouldn't keep her up for too long...Right?" Ian's palms became slick and he rubbed them nervously on his jeans. He was meeting his daughter, the second moment he'd waited eleven years for.
