01. New Girl

Being the child of parents that where never even together hurts, no they didn't get divorced and maybe that's harder, it probably is, but having parents that never even looked at each other or spoke even if the reason they needed to was for me they didn't.

My mother couldn't stand my father, she told me he couldn't stand her either, I never met the guy, I was told it was a one time thing, that I was a surprise.

Always told I wasn't a mistake, I was a miracle.

But how could I believe that when my mother barely saw me, heard me, took time to understand me.

I loved her, I really did.

But if she ever loved me, I didn't know. I never heard her say the words, if she ever did say the three words I so desperately desired I wasn't sure.

But I certainly know I was not miracle or surprise. I was indeed a mistake, I could barely understand myself, let alone others understand me.

So sitting in some so called 'family' meeting with my auntie Clair and her two girls was pushing me to my limits, I didn't want to be here and she knew it.

I'm pretty sure they didn't want me there either.

"Listen, social workers and family advisors have been contacting me lately, about you Calliope." She said staring straight at me, as if that helps the situation.

"Your dad go in contact, seeing as he's still legally a guardian of yours he was informed of the incident. He wants custody." She explained and I sighed.

I'm so tired, of everything, this woman keeps saying 'incident' like it was a little thing.. my mother is dead, dead and still she calls it an incident.

"I want to go." I breathed out.

"Wha-" I cut everyone off knowing they would question it.

"I need to go, I would rather be with my father, it's my choice right?!" I spoke fast not letting anyone say anything till I find usher my sentence.

"If you really want to, I won't fight him for your custody." Aunt Clairs face was shocked but not an ounce of sadness was seen in her eyes.

"I want to go." I nodded and left the room, swiftly taking the turn up the staircase and to the guest room I had been staying in.

Packing my few things in a duffel bag and collapsing on my bed.

••••••••

Having taken a long five hour drive with my grandmother, we soon found ourselves eyeing all old fashioned buildings in a small town we discovered was called Lakehurst, which made sense as we passed a large lake surrounded almost the whole town.

"Have you met him?" I asked my grandma, she hasn't spoke a lot since Ma passed but shes would never ignore her family.

"Your dad?" She questioned and I nodded, kind off scared to how she would react to the question seeing how much Ma hated the man.

"Yeah, he was something, a lot like you in ways, if he causes any trouble you call me okay?" She bluntly replies with a questioning tone at the end of okay.

I nodded and exuded if rather make my own impression of the man who created me.

Turning a corner down a road with big expensive looking houses caught my attention, Ma used to tell me he was and I quote a 'broke bastard' he wouldn't live down here, would he?

"It says this is the one, house number 13." Grandma nodded her head in direction to the house encouraging me to go.

I grabbed my belongings and opened the car door, stoping as I hovered in between the door.

"Love you Grandma." I smiled and her warm expression felt true as she stared back at me with her soft wrinkles outlining her smile.

"Love you kid." And with that the door was shut and she was gone. I was on my own, it was not different to how I already felt at my aunts but still it stung to genuinely have no one other than a man I've never met.

Pacing my way up the rocky driveway to the house I took a deep breath before slowly rising my hand and knocking, I guess if i am gonna search the ocean for new seas I might as well dive in head first.

••••••••

"Calliope." The deep but warm voice called out as the door opened, revealing a tall man around 6,0 feet, owning a thick head of light brown hair and few forehead wrinkles, he looked well kept for a man in his late 40's.

Observing the man who I assumed was my dad more closely I noticed the piercing green eyes he was sporting, the ones I saw when I looked in the mirror each morning.

This was it, this was my dad.

"I'm Christopher Holloway, your father." He said still with his warm smile as he rubbed the back of his head nervously.

He didn't seem like a 'bastard' at all, he seemed nice.

"I know, my Aunt told me your name." I said tilting my head to try I'm understand the man who was half of me.

He pushed the door open further to hint I should come in and I entered, putting my trust in the man I was supposed to call my father, yet we didn't even share a last name, I was still somehow my mothers.

The house felt too big. The high ceilings made the space echo with every step I took, and the open floor plan was so expansive it felt like it could swallow me whole.

To the left of the entryway was a large living room with dark leather furniture and a stone fireplace that looked like it had barely been used. A massive TV hung above it, and shelves lined the walls, mostly filled with hockey memorabilia—trophies, photos, even a couple of pucks displayed in cases. The room felt more like a shrine to the sport than a place to relax.

The floors were hardwood, polished to a shine, but they lacked warmth. There weren't any rugs, no soft touches to make it feel cozy. The walls were painted in neutral tones—gray, beige, white—but they were bare, aside from a few framed team photos. It was clear that decorating wasn't a priority.

The kitchen, visible from the living room, was modern and sleek, with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. It looked spotless, almost untouched, like it belonged in a catalog. A single coffee mug sat on the counter, the only sign of life in the otherwise pristine space.

I noticed a hallway branching off to the right, where I assumed the bedrooms were. The whole house smelled faintly of pine-scented cleaner, like someone had hurriedly scrubbed it before my arrival.

It was clean. Organized. Functional.

But it didn't feel like a home. There were no personal touches—no photos of family, no cozy blankets draped over the couch, no signs that anyone really lived here.

I dropped my duffel bag onto the polished floor and stared at the space around me. This was where I'd live now, with a man I didn't know. And judging by the house, I wasn't sure he knew much about how to make a place feel like a home, either.

••••••••

A/N: CHAPTER 1 DONEEEE!!

Words: 1236