The Red String

Chapter 3. First Encounter

Michael knew that they hadn't been the perfect parents. But really, did perfect parents even exist? No, he thought, he didn't think so. Still, he recognized both he and Clara had made their fair share of mistakes with Lauren, who had carried the burden of a painful past and a deep sense of loneliness from a young age.

Michael could still vividly recall the image of a six-year-old girl walking into his arms with nothing but a battered princess backpack slung over her shoulder and a doll clutched in her hand. The adoption agency had described Lauren as a quiet and reserved kid who struggled to open up to others, and at first, Michael and Clara harbored their own doubts. But when they saw her hauntingly beautiful green eyes, brimming with emptiness and sadness, and noticed her tattered clothes from her time in different foster homes, they instantly fell in love with her.

The man remembered how Lauren had reacted when she first stepped into their house in Miami after the agency had entrusted her to their care; how her eyes had grown wide at the sight of what she had described as 'beautiful things'. Michael was well aware that adapting would be a challenge for Lauren, so he and Clara had to face their share of difficulties in breaking down her barriers and gaining her trust.

Prior to adopting Lauren, the couple had undergone a period of hardship and struggle. Despite being married for ten years, they hadn't been able to have children, and at times, Michael thought they might never be able to. The desire to have a child had caused them considerable pain; they just wished they could have a baby to shower with love and care. Michael had witnessed many melancholic days, seeing Clara staring out the window with an empty gaze, longing for someone to share her love with. So when Lauren joined their family, it was a true blessing for them. Lauren didn't know, but her presence had illuminated Clara's world. It had given them a renewed sense of purpose.

The woman had grown to love the solitary girl, granting her everything a girl her age could hope for. Michael still recalled the faint smile she would give them, the way she would thank them before she hugged the only doll she had brought with her and peered out of the window.

What thoughts could cross the mind of a lonely six-year-old girl who excelled academically but was rarely seen playing or interacting with the other kids? Her teenage years hadn't been any different—marked by sadness and melancholy—yet she held an exceptional talent for drawing.

Michael had always had a feeling that Lauren was one of those people who preferred to retreat into their inner world and let their art flow; those who found comfort within their own thoughts, crafting a sanctuary to shield themselves from the often harsh and unforgiving aspects of reality they were forced to live in. It was a given, the early years of Lauren's life hadn't been easy, and she might bear scars that would forever remain hidden from both him and Clara. But he only hoped Lauren could open up her heart one day and find true happiness.

That was the heartbreaking aspect of it all: she had success and wielded power, but she was unhappy.

What's the point of accomplishing success if there's no one to celebrate it with?

What's the point of having wealth and power if it lacks a greater purpose?

Michael Jauregui had been lucky with his computer software company. He had dedicated a great deal of hard work to attain his aspirations, and he had managed to succeed. The wealth he had amassed was substantial, but it could never replace the comfort of his wife's hug at the end of the day or the joy he felt from his children's smiles. Christopher, Taylor, and Lauren were his world. And despite the strained relationship he and Clara had with Lauren, he knew that deep down she cared about her siblings too.

Michael pushed his thoughts aside as Clara's sobs intensified, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"I couldn't even give her a hug," the woman lamented, her words choked with emotion as she sniffled. Michael looked at her with sympathy, softly brushing away her tears. "Sixteen years, Michael... Sixteen years and she's never called us 'mom' or 'dad'."