Chapter 4: Wren

My heels clicked against the pavement as I walked home under the cold and distant stars; my mind flooded with thoughts of my dad and how much I missed him.

It didn't matter how many times he tricked me into thinking he'd changed just because he needed my help. I would always fall for the same old tactics like a dumb little girl, and maybe deep down, that was what I was.

Why couldn't he just be like a regular dad? Why did he always have to make stuff so complicated all the time?

Over the years, I'd tried to hate him, to despise him for all the pain and agony he'd put me through. But no matter how much I put into it, I just couldn't hate the man who'd broken my heart more times than anyone else ever had.

All I wanted was to be regarded as a daughter, to be loved and adored, appreciated, and pampered by my father. But apparently, that was asking too much.

My relationship with him had always been toxic and one-sided. He rarely called me and only stopped by when he was in trouble. I was always the last resort in his plans.

Sometimes, I spent whole nights wondering whether or not this man ever really loved me as his own.

However, he wasn't always like this—cold, distant, and irresponsible. Which was why I couldn't fathom his sudden transformation from being a loving father to whatever he was now.

The father I remembered would never treat me the way he did—he'd never abandon me—and every day, I longed for that man again.

I wished things hadn't gone so terribly wrong. I wished Mom had never passed away and Dad didn't have to hit the bottle to deal with that pain.

Once upon a memory that refused to fade, he was a fun dad who'd spend hours with his wife and kid. Nothing was more important than the two most beautiful women in his life, as he preferred to call us.

I missed the Sunday morning pancakes and the bliss that came with it. Dad had a secret recipe that made to-die-for pancakes, and not even Mom knew his little secret. He'd always tease her about being the best pastry chef to ever walk the Earth.

A quiet smile touched my lips as memories flooded back, and I strolled through the gardens of my past.

“Good morning!” Dad's voice boomed, accompanied by the creaking of my door, which pulled me out of the dream world.

My eight-year-old self groaned, eyelids groggily fluttering open as sleep's weight still pressed on, its heavy haze lingering over me with a strong grip.

I rolled over to the other side of my bed and squinted, a hand flying to shield my face as Dad parted the curtains, unleashing a flood of sunlight.

“Rise and shine, kiddo!” His eyes sparkled with mischief, lips curling into a broad smile.

“I don't wanna rise and shine.” My voice was a soft murmur as I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes.

“Then I'm afraid you're gonna miss out on the cakes.” He folded his arms, his teasing gaze lingering.

My eyes widened with excitement, and I tossed my sheets aside. “It's Sunday already?” I hopped off the bed, slipping into my flip-flops.

“You bet.” He laughed, walking out of my room.

“Hey, wait up!” I called, quickly wiping my face with my palms and checking my reflection in the mirror.

“I'll race you downstairs.” He turned to me, his brows wiggling.

“Oh, it's on.” My voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

I giggled and sprinted toward him, the soft thud of my flip-flops echoing down the hallway.

We descended the staircase, our footsteps pounding against the wooden floor as we stormed into the kitchen. “Yay! I win!” I threw my hands up in triumph.

“What, do you have rockets for legs now?” Dad stopped at the entrance, hands resting on his knees, pretending to catch his breath.

Mom laughed, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island. “Children. I live with two children.” She sipped from her cup of freshly brewed coffee.

The sweet scent wafted through the air, invading my nostrils.

“Morning, Mom.” I cackled, drawing in the amazing aroma that enveloped the atmosphere.

“Morning, sweetheart.” She beamed a charming smile at me, ruffling my hair.

“Today's pancakes are gonna make the other pancakes of the world jealous. I can assure you that.” Dad walked over to the counter, his tone dripping with confidence.

“You never pass on the chance to boast about your pancakes being better than mine, do you?” Mom said, letting out a whispery laugh. Her hazel-brown eyes roamed his masculine form.

“No, I do not.” A broad smile spread across his face.

Dad cracked two eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a flourish, and then stole a glance at me. “Hey, princess, little help here, please.”

I hopped onto a stool, eager to contribute as always. My job was simple—stir the batter with a wooden spoon—and it brought me so much joy whenever I did that.

“Atta girl. That's my Pancake Queen,” he praised, his voice laced with pride.

Mom just sat there, smiling all the way through, her palms under her chin as she stared at her charming husband making a mouthwatering breakfast.

Her cheeks flushed, eyelashes battering at him.

As Dad expertly fried a pancake, the sizzling sound filled the air, enticing everyone's senses.

“Hmm,” Mom and I chorused, savoring the sweet aroma, tantalizing our taste buds, our anticipation building.

With a flick of his wrist, Dad flipped the pancake high into the air, catching it with a sly smirk. “Flip-tastic! My specialty moves!” He laughed.

“Keep that up, and you're gonna make Wren think pancakes can fly.” Mom let out a hearty chuckle.

“Wait, they can't?” I jerked my head at her, eyes widening at the realization that Dad had been lying to me all this time.

“See what I'm talking about?” She nodded in my direction.

We burst out laughing.

“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asked, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

“Now what?” Mom rubbed her forehead, her face lighting up with anticipation.

“Tada!” He revealed a pancake shaped like a rabbit.

I gasped loudly, my eyes widening in surprise. “Bunny pancakes!” I squealed.

“That's right, sweetheart. It's a bunny pancake!” His voice matched my energy as he pretended it was a rabbit hopping across the plate.

I threw my head back, laughing hard with a hand on my belly.

Mom joined in, making a silly voice for the bunny. “Mr. Hoppy wants syrup, please.”

Dad snorted, his gaze shifting across Mom and me.

Those were the good old days when things were a lot simpler—when I was carefree and loved by both my parents.

Those Sunday mornings were more than just pancakes; they were precious moments filled with laughter, joy, and love.

We used to go to the beach almost every weekend, and I missed those times. I missed feeling the sand between my toes, feeling Mom's hand locked in mine as we strolled the shore. Dad would always build sand castles for his Pancake Queen, a testament to his love.

Camping trips used to be fun. We'd roast marshmallows and stare at the starry skies, Dad teaching me about the constellations.

And game nights? Boy, those used to be filled with laughter and healthy competition, and Dad would always lose. Always. It didn't matter how much he put into it; whenever he was up against Mom, he'd lose, and I'd laugh so hard.

He was good at making pancakes but horrible at gaming, and Mom delighted in teasing him about it.

I’d had a happy family, and I lost it—I lost both parents on the same day.

It was as though Dad died the day Mom did. After her passing, his spirit dwindled—he lost his spark, his vitality faded. And just like that, my life switched from sweet to sour, fro m sour to bitter.

I'd give anything to have things returned to the way they were, to have my father back, at least.

This version of him, this man he'd become, a drunk, a gambler, and an individual who thought he had nothing else to live for, broke my heart on a daily basis.

I sniffled, wiping the tears that trickled down my cheeks as I walked through the alley.

Reliving these memories always stole what little joy I had left, enveloping me in a shroud of sadness and depression.

A twig snapping behind me caught my attention, and I paused in my tracks, eyes roaming the deserted alley.

The flickering streetlight cast long, ominous shadows on the alley walls as I stood alone, my heart racing while scanning the environment.

My instincts kicked in, hinting at the danger lurking in the dark of the night. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched—followed. I could sense another presence around me, and when a nearby bush rustled, my body tensed.

My sharp eyes caught a dark figure nestled in the shadows of a corner, and without a second thought, I spun around, quickening my pace in the opposite direction.

I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat as panic set in. My feet moved swiftly, the sound of my clicking heels echoing through the silence as a cold shiver ran down my spine.

The footsteps behind me grew closer, and I immediately graduated from quick paces to sprinting through the alley. I stole nervous glances over my shoulders while in motion, feeling the wind against my face.

The faster I ran, the fainter the footsteps grew behind me, and eventually, they vanished.

I didn't slow down, nor did I stop until I emerged from the alley, standing at the crossroads, gasping for relief. I was only a few blocks from my place, and the streets were empty at this time of night, but I could hear Ms. Paddington's dog barking in the distance.

With heavy breaths, I glanced back, daring to scan the darkness of the alley. The figure was gone.

My eyes squinted, forming faint creases between my brows as I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me.

I exhaled sharply, picking up my pace, my senses on high alert. The incessant barks of Ms. Paddington's dog pierced through the silent night as I walked back home.

Just as I was about to relax, my gaze fell on an imposing figure towering barely two feet away from me. The form lingering ahead had the poised posture of a man, his face obscured by the night, shrouded by a dark hoodie that blended seamlessly with the shadows.

My pulse spiked, and my breath hitched in my throat as I cautiously pulled away, retracting with quiet steps.

I fixed my gaze on this menacing figure looming over me, wondering where he came from.

Gasping in fear, my eyes widened as he approached me, each step seeming to amplify my terror. My lips twitched, trying to speak, but words failed me. A voice in my head screamed at me to run, but my legs felt rooted to the spot.

It wasn't until he was inches from me that I got a grip on myself and attempted to flee. He grabbed my wrist, his firm grip freezing me in place.

Before I could scream, he pulled me forcibly, my back resting on his chest. My arms flailed wildly but to no avail. He was stronger.

With a swift motion, he clamped a cloth over my mouth and nose. I tried to shake my head, slapping against his strong arms, but his grip was firm, keeping me in place.

The sweet, acidic scent of the cloth invaded my senses, gradually weakening my defenses.

I could feel my strength draining out of me, my vision blurring by the second. The world around me began to swirl, and the barks of Ms. Paddington's dog faded away as my legs bucked against his unyielding grip.

My hands fell off his, my eyes narrowing to a tiny pinprick, giving way to utter darkness.

The last thing I remembered was my body going limp, the world going blank.