Chapter 105: Holding Back
Diane’s POV
A few days had passed since my conversation with Guerrero at the café, and I found myself sitting across from his daughter, Natasha, in a quiet corner of another coffee shop across town. She was more beautiful in person than I had imagined—dark hair that caught the afternoon light, her father’s intelligent eyes, but there was something fragile about her, like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," I said gently, watching as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup like it was an anchor.
"I know this must feel strange, having a complete stranger reach out to you about your father."
Natasha’s smile was polite but guarded. "My father—he said you needed to talk to me." Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was testing each word before letting it out.
I nodded, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could see her wrestling with something, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup in nervous patterns.
"I lost my father when I was three. Well, I thought I had. It’s...complicated. But I do understand the anger, the sense of abandonment. The way it shapes everything that comes after."
"I’m not here to ask you to forgive him," I continued, leaning forward slightly. "That’s not my place, and honestly, forgiveness isn’t something anyone else can demand of you. But I am here because I’m worried about you."
Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, surprise flickering across her face. "Worried about me?"
"The hate you’re carrying—I can see it in your eyes, Natasha. It’s like a weight you’ve been carrying for so long that you don’t remember what it feels like to put it down. And I’m concerned that all that anger, all that resentment... it’s hurting you more than it’s hurting him."
I watched as her carefully constructed composure began to crack around the edges. Her breathing became slightly uneven, and I could see the battle happening behind her eyes. There was something else there too—something deeper than just grief and anger. A distance that made me think she was holding back more than just resentment toward her father.