Chapter 4 - Ghosts of the Past
The week following graduation was a whirlwind of interviews via Zoom and packages arriving at our door from well-wishers. Liam was handling the sudden fame with the same quiet grace he applied to everything else. He used the platform not to boast, but to talk about the hidden struggles of single-parent households. I had never been prouder. But the inevitable downside of going viral soon reared its ugly head. Not all the messages were kind, though we easily ignored the internet trolls. It was the physical knock on our apartment door on a rainy Tuesday afternoon that sent a chill down my spine.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and opened the door. Standing there, holding an expensive-looking umbrella and wearing a sharp suit that smelled of expensive cologne, was a face I hadn't seen in eighteen years. Older, with graying temples and a few wrinkles, but unmistakably him. Ryan. Liam’s father. The man who had blocked my number when I told him I was pregnant. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I instinctively tried to close the door, but he put his Italian leather shoe in the jamb. "Maya, wait. Please," he said, his voice dripping with an artificial sweetness that made my skin crawl. "I saw the video. I saw my son."
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"He's not your son," I hissed, keeping my voice low so Liam wouldn't hear from his bedroom. "You lost the right to call him that almost two decades ago. Get out of here, Ryan." But Ryan was persistent. He talked about how he had matured, how he was a successful real estate developer now, how he regretted his past mistakes. I saw right through it. He hadn't come looking for redemption; he came looking because Liam’s face was currently plastered across every major social media platform and morning show in the country. There were talks of book deals and modeling contracts in our inbox. Ryan smelled an opportunity.
Before I could shove him out, the door to Liam's bedroom opened. Liam stepped out, freezing when he saw the stranger at the door. He looked at Ryan, then at me, taking in my pale face and trembling hands. He had never met his father, had never even seen a picture, because Ryan had made sure to erase himself from our lives. But Liam was incredibly perceptive. He walked slowly toward the door, standing defensively in front of me. "Who are you?" Liam asked, his voice low and dangerous. Ryan plastered on a wide, emotional smile, taking off his hat. "Liam. Look at you. You’re a man now. I'm... I'm your father."
