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BOOK 2: 33. Sinner

I sat in my car, tired from all the shouting, yelling, puking and emotions that I had to let out, and I needed something to keep me calm, so I called the only man who ever cared about me. The only man who gave an actual fuck about me; my father.

"Hello, my angel," my fathers thick Nigerian accent hit me like a wave of fresh air. I smiled immediately at his voice and the name he called me.

"Hey daddy," I leaned further into my car sit in the park. I didn't quite have it in me to go back to being alone in that house just yet. I didn't feel like crying yet.

"This one you called me today, did somebody die," my father joked, I laughed. It had been only a few seconds but the man made me feel better than I've felt in hours. Why didn't I call him since?

"No daddy, no one died, at least not yet," I added, thinking to how I'd kill Antonio once I find out that Samantha is doing something shady to my son.

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