What's Left of Our Hearts

Rebuilding the Truth

There was a time when Clara's father had thousands of people all around the world under his command and moved millions of dollars on daily basis. He was a force to be reckoned with. It was difficult to reconcile that with the whittled, grayed man in front of her. The confident tone in which he spoke was the one clue that said they were one and the same.

"When I was ousted from the business, I was shocked. I was incredibly mad at Dominic's father. I was prepared to do anything to get back in there and destroy everyone who stood in my way and who dared cross me," her father said. While he spoke, it was as if he started filling out the loose space in his clothes and grow larger. "I was so furious. Bastardi! How dared they?" He met Clara's eyes with a clear gaze. "But then, two people helped me see through my anger: your beautiful, kind mamma, and Dominic. He called me to apologize, tell me he spoke to his father and continued speaking on my behalf, but I knew as well as he that it was too late. His father was acting in the best interest of the company. We had differing opinions at the time, but I cannot fault him for that. I would have done the same if I were him."

Hearing this from her father changed everything. Everything. Clara felt like the bottom of her world fell out with those words.

"Do you know that he helped pay for your school?"

Clara started. "What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously moving to the US was difficult, with your mamma sick and me out of the company, and left us a bit—"

"Poor? On the street?"

"Clara," he chastised. "That is a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"I had to leave my life behind, all of my friends, our lovely house. We had to leave behind everything we'd known and start from zero," she said. "That was the reality of it."

"Yes, but it brought our family closer. You wouldn't have understood when you were younger, which is why I am sharing this now. I was all about work and neglected you and your mamma, and if it wasn't for what happened, I wouldn't have been there for her in her last days, and there for you after she passed." The mention of her mother's death was something that always stung Clara's heart, no matter how long ago it happened. Her father took her hand in his. His skin had a paper quality to it, with dark blots speckling his fingertips all the way up to his forearm. "I am grateful for what happened because it forced me to wake up and made me into a better man. I could be there for your mamma. And I have been there for you ever since. You would have grown up very differently if things hadn't changed, amore. Sometimes it takes an earthquake to rebuild."

Clara's mouth felt dry like she was wandering lost in the desert. All this time she resented the Cole family for what they'd done. "Why would Dominic's father pay for my school?" It wasn't like him to be kind, Clara thought. A second later she corrected herself. Perhaps he wasn't the monster she always made him out to be.

"Oh, not his father. Dominic personally did. While we got our footing, he wanted to make sure you were taken care of. He's always wanted to help any way he could to make sure you didn't fall through the cracks."

Clara's head was swimming. If it weren't for Dominic, she wouldn't have been able to afford to go to college, certainly not a private one. Their situation had been bad, but she thought it was her parents who had found the money. School was where she'd met Owen. If it weren't for Dominic, she'd never have met him. She didn't know how to feel about that. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her father pushed his glasses up, frowning. It was a nervous gesture. "He didn't want us to. He always offered to help, but he insisted on keeping it between us. I tried to convince him, but he was adamant."

Clara could imagine why. She remembered her parting words with Dominic.

I never want to see you again.

Clara sat back in her chair, feeling as if she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her. What did one do when all their assumptions, all their truths turned out to be incomplete? Untrue? Where did she start over? How did she start reassessing what she believed, and what was a lie?

A tissue appeared in front of her and that was when she realized tears had welled in her eyes. She gratefully took it and wiped her nose, looking up at her father who'd risen from his chair and held his hand out for her, a look of sincere compassion on his face.

"I'm tired, papa," she said in a small voice, feeling ten again.

"I know, Principessa. Come," he said and led her inside to her childhood bedroom.

Clara was overwhelmed with love for her father. Having someone to talk to without having to hide her true feelings was what she'd needed for weeks now. She rested her head on her Cinderella pillow and inhaled the clean linen smell of fresh soap and lavender. Sleep claimed her by the time her father had drawn the blanket over her shoulders and kissed her forehead gently.