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Chapter 125: Iris: Controvesy

Chapter 125: Iris: Controvesy

That evening, dinner fills the air with chatter, but I find it hard to focus. My thoughts keep drifting back to my father and the unresolved feelings weighing on me. After dinner, as my grandparents cleared the table, I excused myself to go to my room.

I sit on my bed, the weight of everything pressing heavily on my chest. I know I have a lot to sort through, and the fear of facing my father becomes almost paralyzing.

Later that night, I decided to try journaling, just as Dr. Williams suggested. I open my notebook and begin writing down my feelings, but the words feel inadequate. My hand shakes as I try to articulate the pain, the fear, and the anger I carry.

After a while, frustration bubbles up inside me, and I slam the notebook shut. I feel stuck in a cycle of emotion that I can’t break free from. My head spins with thoughts of my father and the past, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Just then, my mother’s voice echoes from downstairs. "Iris, can you come down for a moment?"

They’re here. They came. I thought they would be a little ashamed and consider coming tomorrow or even be embarrassed about coming and meeting my grandparents after what happened yesterday. But I guess I overestimated them and thought they’d react like normal beings, forgetting how shameless my mother is.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever conversation awaits me. As I descend the stairs, I find my mother and grandparents sitting at the kitchen table, their expressions serious. But the look on my father’s face, the slight bit of a smirk that plays on his lips sends me off guard.

I instantly forget all the practice I had with my grandparents a little while ago.

"Iris, we need to talk," my mother says, her tone leaving little room for discussion.

"About what?" I ask, my heart racing. My tone sounds mad and it’s all thanks to Sam’s face. Every time I glance at him I feel like cursing.

"About your father," she replies, glancing at my grandparents. "We think it’s time you give him a chance."

I feel my heart sink. "A chance? After everything he’s done?"

"I know it’s complicated," my mother continues, her voice steady. "But he’s trying to reconnect. Maybe it’s worth considering."

"He’s not the person you think he is," I say, frustration bubbling up. "You don’t know what he’s put me through. I can’t just forgive and forget!"

"Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting," my grandmother interjects gently. "But keeping the door closed might prevent you from healing."

I feel anger rising within me. "You think it’s that simple? You don’t understand the fear he instills in me. You don’t know what it was like growing up with him!"

"Iris, we’re just trying to help," my grandfather says, his tone calm but firm.

"I don’t want your help! You don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes!" I shout, my voice echoing off the walls. "You don’t know how it feels to have him come back like this!"

"Then help us understand!" my mother urges, her voice rising with desperation. "We’re here for you, but you need to talk to us!"

"I can’t! I don’t want to talk about it!" I snap, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I just want to be left alone!"

Why can’t they understand? Why can’t they see that I’m not ready to face my father? I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of confusion and anger, and I don’t know how to swim to the surface.

"Hold it right there young lady," comes the deep voice I was dreading to hear all day.

I stand frozen, my heart racing like a drumline as my parents and grandparents sit around the ceramic kitchen table.

Grandma and Grandpa exchange nervous glances with me. My father, Sam, clears his throat, his eyes locked on mine—eyes that once sparkled with love, are now filled with guilt and desperation. My mother, Vanessa, sits beside him, her expression a mask of calm concern, but I see the faint tremble of her hands.

"Iris, we want to explain..." Sam begins, his voice low and hopeful.

I cut him off, my voice steady but laced with pain. "What could you possibly say that would undo the years of hurt you caused me?"

Grandma places a gentle hand on my arm, but I shake it off, my gaze unwavering. Grandpa’s eyes plead with me to listen, filled with a deep sadness, as if he already knows this conversation is doomed.

Mom speaks up, her voice soft. "We were young, Iris, struggling with our demons..."

"Demons?" I repeat, anger rising like a flame. "You call abandoning me and letting him hurt me ’demons’?"

The room falls silent, heavy with unspoken words. Sam looks down, shamefaced, his eyes welling with tears. Finally, a decent reaction from him. Mom’s mask slips, revealing a glimmer of tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

My voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "Do you have any idea how many nights I lay awake, wondering why you didn’t want me? Do you know how many nights I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes it’s dark and my nyctophobia hits as a fucking drug ready to send me into oblivion?"

"Do you know how many times I had to be reminded I don’t have parents at school when conferences were held and my grandparents had to act as my parents instead of you guys? Do you know how hard it was for me to stick to a therapy session routine just so I could be able to sleep in my room at night?"

Grandma’s face contorts in anguish, and Grandpa wraps a protective arm around her shoulders.

Mom choked out, "We were fools, Iris... your father was addicted to us so much that he became a freak and a stalker, and I tried to escape him but ended up abandoning you instead thinking you were safer away from me... we failed you."

My anger surges. "Failed me?! You destroyed me! You killed my entire fucking childhood, and gave me a past that I’m not willing to replay in my head over a shitty discussion like this."

Sam’s head snaps up, eyes blazing with desperation. "Iris, please—we’ve spent years in guilt and I’ve been looking for ways to come back and see you, but not before working on myself. I even went to therapy just so I can finally have this conversation with you... we’re different people now."

I laugh harshly. "Different people? Do you think a few years of sobriety erases a lifetime of hurt? Mom last gave me a heart attack about a few months ago, not to mention yesterday’s fucking surprise after acting like a caring mother in front of you who kept silent like an idiot, afraid I’d be able to recognize you in an instant once you spoke."

The kitchen air thickens with tension.

Grandpa intervenes, his deep voice calm but firm. "Iris, sweetie, maybe we should take a break—this conversation is overwhelming everyone."

But I’m beyond reason, fueled by pent-up rage and pain. They have no idea. No one understands the pain, because only I went through it. Fuck, I sound like an ungrateful brat.

"No, Grandpa—I need to say this. You both had chances to be my parents—birthdays, holidays, every day... and you chose violence against each other, dumping trauma on me, and silence? Hell you could have done your things in silence without needing to involve me, but you did involve me anyway."

Mom sobs openly now, her body shaking violently. Sam slams his fist on the table, making me jump—a rare flash of his old temper. Now he’s back at it again. But this time is different, I’m not a kid anymore, I won’t budge even if he hits me. Besides, I have someone waiting for me outside, ready to tend to my wounds if worse comes to worse.

"Iris, stop—you’re killing your mother!"

Grandma rushes to her daughter’s side, comforting her as Grandpa glares at Jack. "That’s enough, Sam—you’ve caused enough pain. Iris is not the only one who’s hurting, we are too. We’ve had to see this child cry before us so many times than we can count. This is not something that can be resolved overnight with a couple of drinks while sitting around the kitchen counter!"

My vision blurs with angry tears as I rise and turn to leave, hugging Grandpa as a surge of emotions runs through me from his momentary support. My feet feel heavy as if rooted to the spot, yet my mind screams to escape this toxic reunion. I take one step toward the door, then another...

Suddenly, my legs buckle beneath me. Everything spins wildly—colors, faces, emotions.

"No... this can’t be happening..." I whisper.

The last thing I hear is their frantic voices:

"Iris, no!"

"Iris, baby, wake up!"

"Iris, please..."

Then blackness swallows me whole.