Jack's POV
"What is he doing here?" I roared as I watched the diminutive man walk into the funeral.
He was different from how I remembered him but I couldn't even forget that face. How could I when he was the reason behind my pain and why I doubted my paternal instincts?
"Don't talk to your father like that, Jack." Mum hissed at me, coming to his rescue as always.
My head snapped towards her and I wanted to yell at her to come to her senses. Images of how badly he had treated me and her flashed through my mind and I felt an exponential increase of the hatred surging in my heart.
He had been a handsome young man then and I wondered if that was why my mother had lost her heart and head to him.
At the moment though, he looked frail, old and shabby. He was a shadow of who he used to be that I couldn't help getting mad and wondering why my mother still couldn't see him as the loser that he was.
He was a loser.
