Fernando was born out of wedlock years ago to my husband's high school female classmate, Dora, and he was blessed with a full head of black hair and long dark mesmerizing eyelashes; a woman's envy.
His mother, Dora, was my husbands' classmate throughout high school and they became close friends maintaining a platonic relationship including outside of school activities.
Later, Dora met and married a jealous possessive man named Armando, who later became a very good friend of my husband, James.
My name is Ada; described by others as being reserved, conservative, classy, and stunningly beautiful.
Back in my younger years, I kept a diary; transcribing brief notes as time elapsed because I found writing to myself peaceful and therapeutic.
I titled my diary; Pandora's Box.
Pandora's Box marked the beginning of an epic journey and my close ties in friendship with Dora and Armando; including the post saga of an illicit affair with Fernando the man... once the little boy I used to bath and babysit when his parents needed time away to themselves.
Fernando's biological father, Frankie, was a womanizer; a trendy, and impeccable dresser, and a dancer around women.
Frankie was also a deadbeat dad no longer allowed in the life of his birth son Fernando.
It was customary and the parental preference of Dora and Armando that in the growing years of Fernando, he was to call me Auntie, stemming from Auntie Ada, a name he would later call me in his adulthood.
One might even say Fernando and I spent most of our time together in companionship; in graduating steps - familial, casual, cordial and intimate.
In a sense, he grew up alongside me, knowing of me, and better than anyone else, including my husband James.
Little Fernando was well bred, courtly and religiously, by both Dora and Armando until his birth father's immoral genes kicked in.
I took pride in having developed an independent life for myself; well known and respected in the community, and financially secure apart from my husband James; my first and only love.
Under the watchful eye of Fernando, I shared much with him as he matured, and there was very little he did not learn about me.
He was considered family until one day, we both stepped over the line, and Little Fernando transformed into the persona of Daddy Frank, eventually stripping me of every facet of my independent life; emotionally, physically, spiritually, and financially.
To be continued...
My Nephew... Not...
The Preacher Boy... Part Two