My fingers dig into Joel’s arm, and he attempts to push me behind him, trying to protect me, despite having no clue what is causing my distress.
“What's wrong?” he whispers.
“That is my father,” I say, my eyes still locked on the man that I have mourned for the last 13 years.
“I thought he was dead,” Joel says, looking between me and my father.
“Me too, but I guess he died the same way we did.”
I had always had a feeling there was more to his disappearance. I had desperately hoped he was alive and safe somewhere, so why am I so angry now that my dreams have come true?
“Freya, you grew up even more beautiful than I imagined. I know this must be a shock, but I’m so happy to see you,” my dad says, and I can't help the laugh of disbelief that escapes me.
“You left me,” is all I can say.
