Tears drip from my eyes and fall down my cheeks onto my lap. In the dead silence of the room, my crying was surprisingly loud and ostentatious. Everyone was avoiding me, their eyes purposely looking in another direction, as if to pretend I wasn’t there. They didn’t want to think about what this means for me.
I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t cry, I wouldn’t show him what this did to me, what he did to me and is still doing to me. Though, it will soon be over.
His dark green eyes turn towards me and swivel in their sockets like searchlights, and his face turns to one of pity as he sees my despairing one. But, I lifted my chin and turned my head, not acknowledging him for the lowlife scum he is.
Hurt by my insolence, he lowered his head, instead focusing his gaze on the document before him. He raised his hand, clutching the ball-point pen so hard his knuckles turned white.
His “girlfriend” put her hand on his shoulder, comforting him. Comforting him! Like he should be comforted. He should be thrown out on the street to live with the wolves for his betrayal.
Copying the woman across the table, my mother put her hand on my shoulder and sent me a loving glance, trying to convey her support. Though, her eyes were distant, her mascara smudged. Looks like I wasn’t the only one crying today.
He moved his hand again, now hovering just above the document and though he was “so sure” a month ago, his greedy fingers hesitated for a moment before brushing the paper. But only for a second.
As he scrawled his signature on the indicated line, the cheap pen leaving a scribbled trail of bright blue ink, my eyes dried up, the tears evaporating, leaving my face red and puffy. There wasn’t anything to cry about. He’s not my father anymore.