Yes, Daddy?

Chapter 1

Tiana

The bell chimes as I push open the door to You Can Brew It, my sanctuary in the bustling city. Sweet notes of caramel and chocolate mingle with rich espresso, wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. Indie music floats through the speakers - something about new beginnings and second chances.

I take my usual spot by the window, setting down my laptop bag. The leather armchair cradles me as I sink into it, letting my fingers trace the worn wooden table. The barista catches my eye and gives me a knowing nod. I've been here enough times that she knows my order by heart.

A couple sits at the table across from me, their hands intertwined as they share a slice of chocolate cake. The woman throws her head back, laughing at something her partner said. My chest tightens. That used to be me, before I learned that some laughter masks darker truths.

My hands shake slightly as I reach for my phone. Three weeks. It's been three weeks since I left Marcus. Three weeks of jumping at shadows and checking my locks twice before bed. The restraining order sits in my purse like a shield, but paper feels flimsy against memories.

A group of friends crowds around a nearby table, their animated chatter filling the space. One girl gestures wildly, nearly knocking over her latte as she tells her story. Her friends lean in, invested in every word. I watch them, feeling a flutter of hope beneath my ribs. This is what normal looks like. This is what I'm working toward - a life where every smile doesn't hide a threat, where friendship doesn't come with conditions.

My therapist says it's good that I'm here, surrounding myself with life instead of hiding away. Some days it's harder than others. Today, watching these strangers live their uncomplicated lives, I can almost believe I'll get there too. The coffee shop's warmth seeps into my bones, and for a moment, I let myself breathe in the possibility of better days.

Still, it's hard to remind myself that the past is in the past. He can't hurt me anymore. But in my mind, in my thoughts, he still festers. The coffee shop bustle fades as memories crowd in. My fingernails dig into my palms, grounding me in the present, but Marcus' voice echoes through my mind.

"You're nothing without me, Tiana. Who else would want you?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. The first time he screamed those words, I was wearing my favorite blue dress, the one with tiny white flowers. He'd torn it off the hanger, shredding the delicate fabric while I cowered in the corner of our bedroom. The dress ended up in the trash, along with pieces of my favorite ceramic mug - the one he'd hurled at the wall inches from my head.

My throat constricts. The signs were there from the beginning. The way he'd check my phone. How he'd "surprise" me at work. The constant questions about where I was going, who I was seeing. Love-bombing one day, cold silence the next.

"You're getting fat," he'd say while I picked at my dinner. "No one likes a woman who can't take care of herself."

I'd stopped eating lunch after that. Started wearing baggy clothes. Dropped three dress sizes before my best friend, Sarah, noticed something was wrong.

The breaking point came during a dinner party. I'd laughed at our friend's joke - too loud, according to Marcus. Later that night, he grabbed my arm so hard it left finger-shaped bruises. I still remember the sound of our glass coffee table shattering as he shoved me into it.

"This is your fault!" he'd snarled, his eyes ablaze with pure anger. "You're always embarrassing me!"

My hands shake as I reach for my cup, the ceramic warm against my skin. I force my eyes open, focusing on the café's exposed brick wall, the string lights twinkling above. I'm here. I'm safe. He can't hurt me anymore.

But the memories persist. The way he'd apologize after each explosion. The flowers. The promises to change. The cycle that kept me trapped for two years until I finally gathered the courage to call the domestic violence hotline.

"If you leave, I'll find you," he'd threatened. "You belong to me."

I press my palms flat against the table. No. I belong to myself now.

I pull out my phone with trembling fingers, needing to break free from the spiral of dark memories. Sarah's contact photo shows her beaming at the camera, golden hair gleaming in perfect waves.

"Coffee date? I'm at our spot." I type the message, watching the dots dance as she responds almost immediately.

"Tiana, yes! Perfect timing! I have so many ideas for V-day we need to discuss! "

Valentine's Day. My stomach drops. Last year, Marcus had promised a romantic evening, only to spend hours berating me about a male coworker who'd liked my social media post. The night ended with me sleeping on the couch, mascara streaking my pillowcase.

"Sounds great," I reply, pushing those thoughts aside. "I've got us a table by the window."

"Be there in 15! Order me my usual? You're the best!"

I can't help but smile. For all her princess tendencies, Sarah's energy is infectious. She's been there for me through some of my darkest moments, even if she doesn't always understand why I can't just "get over it." Her heart's in the right place, though sometimes her privilege shows in the way she tries to solve every problem by throwing money at it.

I wave to the barista, catching his eye. "Can I get a vanilla oat milk latte for my friend? Extra foam." He nods, already familiar with our regular orders. Sarah's been dragging me here since we first met, insisting it's the only place in Atlanta that makes her coffee "exactly right."

Sarah's particular about her coffee - one of her many traits that might make her unappealing to anyone else. But that's just Sarah. Where I overthink everything, she breezes through life on designer heels and determination, treating obstacles like minor inconveniences to be swatted away with her platinum card. Sometimes I envy that confidence, even if it borders on self-absorption. The way she commands attention when she walks into a room, never doubting for a second that she belongs there - it's a stark contrast to how I second-guess my every move nowadays.

Having Marcus in my life really fucked me up. It's going to take me a while to undo all of the pain, hurt, and trauma he's caused me.

Eventually, the cafe door chimes and I spot her signature blonde waves before she even turns around. Despite my lingering unease about Valentine's Day, Sarah's presence promises a welcome distraction from the shadows in my mind.

Sarah glides into the seat across from me, her Hermès bag finding its perfect spot on the hook under the table. Her cream cashmere sweater dress probably costs more than anything I currently own. God, what I would give to have an incredibly rich dad who pays for anything I could ever want in life.

"Jeez, the traffic was horrible." She adjusts her pearl earrings, the ones I know her dad bought her last Christmas. "But look what I picked up on the way." She pulls out a glossy magazine, pointing to an article splashed across the cover. "Ten Ways to Find Love Before Valentine's Day."

My stomach churns, and I grip my coffee cup tighter. "Sarah-"

"I know, I know. Marcus was trash. But that's exactly why you need this." She flips through the pages with her manicured fingers, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light. "You're free now. Valentine's Day is the perfect opportunity to put yourself out there. God knows there are plenty of eligible men in Atlanta who'd kill for a chance with you."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for-"

"Listen to this." She leans forward, her designer perfume wafting across the table. "'The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.' See? Even Cosmopolitan agrees with me." Her green eyes sparkle with that familiar determination that usually means she's about to drag me into something I'll regret.

I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, seeking comfort in its warmth. "It's not that simple."

"Of course it is." Sarah waves dismissively. "Marcus is gone. You have a restraining order. Time to move on to bigger and better things." She pauses as the barista delivers her latte. "Perfect timing. Now, there's this singles mixer at Le Blanc next weekend-"

"Sarah, please." My voice comes out smaller than intended. "I can barely handle being in public spaces some days."

She rolls her eyes, taking a delicate sip of her drink. "That's exactly why you need to jump back in. Trust me, once you meet someone new, all this anxiety will disappear."

"Fine." I cave, knowing it's easier than arguing with her. "I'll think about it."

"That's my girl!" She claps her hands together, oblivious to my discomfort. "We'll find you the perfect outfit. Something that screams 'I'm single and fabulous.'"

I force a smile, nodding along as she details her plans for my love life resurrection. Sometimes it's easier to agree than explain why the thought of dating makes my hands shake.

While Sarah rambles on and on about her upcoming plans for Valentine's Day, my eyes gaze down at my hands, wondering what I'm going to do with my life now. So many years have gone down the drain. Now, I'm all alone. Me and my graphic designer career, that is.

Marcus always said I had potential to do so much more in life. He would laugh at my job, saying it was beneath me.

Well, fuck him. I love what I do. And now that he's gone, I get to enjoy my life without worrying about the next little mistake that would earn me an explosive tirade from him.

The weight of the world lifted from my shoulders the moment he stepped out of my life. I plan to keep things that way.