Joyce lived up to her words.
She danced to the tune of the rumors, letting the poison feed her anger until there was nothing left of the woman I once knew. The person whispering in her ear — whoever they were — came in full speed, and I could feel their work in every bit of distance between us.
She didn't want anything to do with me.
No messages. No calls. No updates about Angela.
The only time I ever got to hear my daughter's voice was when Mama Kholi was home from work and decided to answer her phone. And even then, I knew she was doing it quietly, behind Joyce's back.
> "Angela's here," she'd whisper, "but make it quick."
I never took those moments for granted. Just hearing Angela say "Hi, Daddy" felt like oxygen to a drowning man.
Still, it hurt — deeply — knowing that I couldn't see her, couldn't hold her, couldn't watch her grow. Joyce made it clear:
> "I'm not coming there, and you're not coming here."
Those words stayed with me like an echo.
No matter how much time passed, they still stung every time I remembered them.
Some nights, I'd sit outside with Rebecca after everyone had gone to bed. I wouldn't say much. She'd just look at me and know.
> "You miss her," she'd say softly.
I'd nod, staring at the stars. "Every day."
Rebecca would take my hand — the one that still didn't move right — and hold it gently, reminding me that I wasn't alone, even in my silence.
> "Don't give up," she'd whisper. "One day, Angela will know the truth for herself."
I wanted to believe that. I really did.
So I kept calling when I could. Kept sending small gifts. Kept praying that one day the walls Joyce had built would fall away, and Angela would walk right through — not as a little girl anymore, but as a young woman who finally understood her father never stopped trying.
For now, all I could do was wait — and love her from a distance.
---
Chapter ten (continued)
Knowing I wouldn't get to see my daughter tore my heart apart.
Nights became long and heavy. I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, asking myself the same questions over and over — Why? Who would do this to me?
After everything I'd been through — the pain, the healing, the fight to stand again — now I was being punished in a way that hurt even more.
It wasn't just about Joyce not answering the phone anymore; it was about the space she built between me and Angela — a space filled with lies I couldn't defend myself against.
Sometimes I'd think maybe I should just stop calling, stop hoping. But then I'd remember Angela's little voice saying, "I want to come see you." And that was enough to keep me trying.
Still, deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that whoever was behind this… wasn't far.
It felt close — too close.
Like someone who knew me well, someone who'd seen how hard I was fighting to get back up.
Every time life started to settle — every time I began to find peace — something would come up to ruin it. A rumor. A twisted story. A voice whispering in the wrong ear.
Rebecca could tell when I hadn't slept.
> "You're overthinking again," she said one morning, handing me a cup of tea.
I sighed. "I can't help it. It's like… someone doesn't want to see me happy."
She looked at me for a long moment, then said,
> "Whoever it is, let them talk. The truth doesn't die — it just takes time to be seen."
Her words brought a small calm to my storm, but my mind still wandered every night.
Was it someone from my old street?
Someone pretending to care but feeding Joyce those lies behind my back?
Or maybe… someone who envied my peace after the chaos I'd survived.
I didn't have answers. Only questions that kept me up until dawn.
But even through the pain, one thing remained clear — I wasn't going to let bitterness win. I'd already survived too much to lose myself to hate.
I promised myself that no matter what anyone said, I'd keep being Angela's father, even from a distance. Because lies might travel fast — but love never forgets where it belongs.