I took a deep breath as I stood outside my father's house, bracing myself for the meetup. A part of my brain screamed at me, to turn around on my heels and run for my life—I did not have to do it. The other part that had craved a reason to explain his intense dislike towards me, all my life, wanted to have a confrontation—a closure.
After the brief discussion with Aaron that had ended with silence on both ends, I had spent the whole of yesterday wondering if I was doing it right. I knew I wanted to meet him and get my answers. Though he made it clear that he wanted to make amends, I did not want his apology. But I did want a reason. A made up, fake one would do too. There was no need for a justification, but an explanation for why, when he could have given me a normal life by simple ignorance, did he decide to make it a living hell by hating me.
Jane, the housekeeper, opened the door with a smile on her face. She greeted me like an old friend, guiding me inside the house. Not more than five steps inside, I saw my father coming towards me with a huge smile on his face. His eyes were shiny and bright, his stance was upright, there was not a hint of tiredness or dullness on his features.
Wasn't he so sick that his mind was full of regrets? Was he not ailing of old age?
The smile that had formed on meeting Jane after so long, vanished the moment he pulled me in a hug. He actually pulled me in a hug!
"You have no idea how much I missed you, Caro," he said, pulling back to smile at me brightly.
I stared back at him, unable to reciprocate the affection. I was hardly able to say anything. He was smiling at me. He just told me he missed me. He had just hugged me. This was what I had wanted from him all my life, nothing more. And yet, all I did was stare back at him. The bruises, both external and internal, from my past refused to accept the present.
"Welcome back, home. Come on," he said as he started to wall inside.
"This is not my home," I stated. He stopped in his tracks and turned back. There was not a hint of anger and I repeated my words. "This was never my home."
That was when I saw Lahaina glaring at me from across the foyer. "Just get in and let's get this over with," she rolled her eyes as soon as our eyes met.
I frowned. Get what over with?
"Don't mind her. She is only worried about me," my father said as he ushered me into the living room.
Lahaina walked ahead of us while he had decided to walk with me, creating small talk as we settled inside the living room. This was the first time that I was the recipient of his good behavior and full attention. All this was supposed to be pleasant, causing joy, and yet I could not wait to end this conversation and leave them all behind in the past.
"How have you been, Caro? I heard Aaron and you shifted to a new house," he asked. His voice lacked the malice I was so accustomed to.
"We did."
"And I hope he is treating you well?"
It was a simple question, a father inquiring his daughter about her new life and husband. Though in this situation, it felt unworldly. Ironic.
What was I supposed to tell him? That he treated me better than my own father ever could? That I was always treated as an equal when I was with him, and that it was a foreign feeling until he came into my life? That he encourages me to have my own opinions, make my own choices? And that even after the argument the previous day, I could still say with confidence that he would never think of hurting me in any way?
"He is," I simply answered, knowing better than to waste those words on him.
"You said you were sick," I commented before he could suggest another question to try and demean Aaron and my relationship with him.
Lahaina scoffed at my question, but other than that, she remained silent. I noticed how she had taken the farthest seat from me—it was nothing remarkable, since in her mind, I have always been too inferior to be near. The startling part of the seating arrangement was dad sitting in the chair, close to mine.
"I am sick, Caro. There has been a lot of stress lately because of work. Everything is going downhill for me. It was inevitable, I believe. It needed to happen for me to realize my mistakes," his eyes dropped to the marbled floor—that was another first. He raised his head to give me a small smile, "but now you're here and I feel a lot better."
I was rooted to my place, unable to do anything other than stare back at him. Was he serious? This was not a facade?
"I was never a good father to you, Caroline. I never treated you with the love and respect you deserved. I was too busy with my work at the company to look after you. But look at you, you still grew up to be a wonderful person. You were the ideal daughter and I have been a fool until now to not see it. I don't know what the devil whispered in my ear that I refused to accompany you to your wedding. It was a terrible thing to do to you, Caroline. And it was only after you were gone did the regret begin to gnaw at me. I'm so sorry, Caro. I'm so sorry."
He shook his head, unable to look me in the eye. Did he mean it? Was he really that ashamed? Was it not just a string of lies he had created to...
To what? What purpose would a fake apology serve? What reason could be there to act so vulnerable to someone if not to actually beg for forgiveness?
And why was it still so difficult for me to accept it as the truth?
"Karma is a bitch Caro," he continued. "It strikes you when you're at your best and pulls you back to the ground. Look at you now, happy in your new life while I struggle. Karma hit me hard and now I'm miserable. I deserve it. I deserve it all," he closed his eyes as if in deep, physical pain.
Despite his actions suggesting otherwise, his words hardly indicated he was talking about his ill health—if he was ill at all, that is.
"How are you miserable?" I asked.
"You don't know?" he asked, finally meeting my eyes. "Of course. Of course. I forgot you were never interested in my business. It's a terrible thing that is happening to me right now, Caro. But I believe I did deserve it. You already know about my deteriorating physical health, and my recent attempt to try to help my mental health by making amends. The losses that my company is facing at this time is making it all worse."
My eyes were locked on my father, but the movement to my right forced me to look away. Lahaina had shifted a little closer and turned in my direction to listen with interest.
"The business is getting worse and the company's reputation is in jeopardy. I need funds to bring the situation under control and I am unable to do so," he shook his head again. His eyes, on the other hand, instead of dropping back to the ground stayed on my face as if expecting me to say something.
"Ask the bank for a loan," I suggested, only because I was expected to speak.
"I tried, Caroline. I tried everything. They won't give me one."
"I thought you'd have a great credit history. Why not?"
I saw the first hint of irritation on his face at that. "Does it really matter? I asked them for a loan. It was a huge sum and they refused. I have a friend who works in a bank, Juliea has gone to meet him. She'll bring him along."
"Then that solves the problem. He'll help you."
"No, Caroline," he massaged his forehead with his fingers and I recognised that action: he was getting angry and fighting for control. "He said he will help me with half the amount, if I manage to raise the other half from somewhere else."
"How much is the other half?" I asked, already knowing where the conversation was headed to.
"Four hundred thousand dollars," he sighed.
I gasped. "Why do you need that kind of money?"
"I told you it was a large sum. If it was any less the bank would have taken care of it," he explained. "I'm out of options. I don't know what to do about it. I'm going to lose my company this way."
There was that look in his eyes again where he expected me to say something. I had a fair idea what that expectation was, so I remained silent, waiting for him to say it.
"Can you please help me with this, Caro?"
I had come here for a closure, not for an apology or forgiveness but to have a final conversation with him that would give me answers for at least a few of my questions. There were no expectations on my side of his sudden change of heart, I was not looking forward to having a normal life with him being a part of it. But to know that all the words, the claim of trying to make amends, the said pain caused by all the past regrets in his life, was only a means to reach the end goal, the end goal being—once again—money, was surprising, yet so in character for him that I mentally cursed myself for thinking otherwise.
Apparently Aaron had seen this coming, hasn't he?
"I can't help you," I stated firmly. "I'm leaving."
I was barely out of my seat when Lahaina rushed out of hers and came to stand near me. It was my father whom she turned to first.
"I told you it will be useless to talk to her. Why you think it is a good idea to ask for her help is beyond me. Now she thinks she is above us."
Then she turned to me, her voice raised to that ear-piercing high. "Shame on you, Caroline. Just because you have an easy life now, money that you can spend like water and still not be concerned about the future savings, you don't care about your family? He is not asking you to give all your money away to him. He is only asking for a little help, the kind of help that won't make a dent on the wealth you have now."
I raised to my full height, which in comparison with Lahaina wasn't much, but made me feel a little powerful. "What family are you talking about? I used to get up everyday hoping maybe today dad would treat me like a normal human, let alone a daughter. Maybe today I would feel like I was part of the family, would feel like an equal. That is not what happens when you have a family. You don't get scared of living under the same roof and you don't get beaten when you make the smallest of mistakes," I said looking at my father, who was glaring back at me.
"And it's not my money that you want. I never had that kind of money and I don't have it now. The wealth that you're asking me to use to help you belongs to the man I'm married to. And if you really needed help so desperately, it was him you should have gone to. Not me."
They both looked at me with shock at my outburst. Before they could utter their first word, that was undoubtedly going to make the situation worse, I turned to leave. Thankfully, both of them were too shocked to move.
The door to the living room was where I was stopped this time. Juliea entered the living room, pulling me along like an affectionate mother. She was closely followed by a short man, dressed in formal clothes.
"Caro, this Judy, the friend I was talking about," James said, standing straight to greet Judy.
"Ok. I need to leave," I said, pulling my hands away from Juliea's grasp.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Caro?" James said, blocking my path. "That's only a few dollars for Aaron. He wouldn't care if you gave it to me."
"It's not mine to give!" I snapped. The fear of being hit was still there—it was hard to let go, no matter how much I tried to appear strong—but the irritation of not being allowed to leave was what made me lose my calm.
"I'm asking you because I can't ask him!" he snapped back. For a second there, I pulled back—a reflexive action—until I reminded myself that showing fear would only give him more power and control over me. So I stood my ground, pushing the fear to the back of my head. It was terrifying to do so, but the thought of going back to Aaron at the end of the day and crying all my fears and problems away to him made it a little easier.
"I can't ask him for the money. He already is the biggest investor in my company. He owns more stocks in my company that I'm comfortable with. You know he hates me, Caro. Asking for money from him would be like offering him to buy my company. I will lose everything if he finds out I'm vulnerable," he said in a much calmer voice.
"The money," I said, emphasizing every word. "It's not mine. Even if I give it to you, it's still Aaron's. Either way, it would still be Aaron who helps your company. What makes you think he won't find out?"
"You don't have to tell him, Caro. You were always this stupid, weren't you?" And there it was, the malice back in his tone.
It was a good thing that I had decided to come to see him. If there was even a slight regret for not giving him a chance before, there was none now. He did not deserve it. This was not the closure I had needed, but it wasn't very far from it.
"Didn't you ask me to come because you wanted to make amends? Why don't you do some of that? You were sick when you called me yesterday, weren't you? You don't look sick to me now. At least not physically."
The words were barely out of my mouth when I felt the stinging sensation across my cheek. The flesh where his hand had hit, burned with the impact. I brought my hand up but didn't touch my cheek. A voice in my head yelled at me to step back and look away like I always have, but I stood my ground and glared back at him.
"You remember what happened to your fucking, brainless mother when she tried to act smart with me, do you not? Do you want the same for yourself, Caroline?" His words were like venom dripping out of his mouth. There was terrifying rage in his eyes, but all I felt at that was pure, unfiltered disgust.
I was still trying to recover from the previous slap when I saw him lift his hand again. With little thought—close to none—I pushed him back with all my strength. He staggered back, a side of his leg hit the wooden table beside him as he tumbled over and fell to the floor.
"I remember what you did with my mother. It's ingrained in my memory forever. And it's because of that I could have never forgiven you, even if you begged me for it. I was never going to free you of the regrets because of what you did to her. But to know that even today you called me here because of your greed? I'm ashamed to think that even after all you did to me and my mother, I was still hoping for some redemption. I hate you, James Marshall and I hope you rot in hell."
Juliea ran to help him stand while Lahaina walked towards me. I wished she learned a lesson seeing her step-father on the ground and would not make a mistake of touching me. I was fuming with anger, disgusted by the people I was surrounded with.
"How dare you, you bitch!" she screamed.
"I'm not here to fight you, Lahaina. I never was. I'm leaving and you people are never going to get any money from me," I stated and turned to walk out of the house.
"Not even if I tell you where your mother is?" James bellowed.
I stopped in my tracks. At the moment, no other words spilled out of his mouth would have been successful in doing that.
"You know where she is?"
"I know an address that would lead to her," he answered with confidence. Juliea was by his side, holding him steady. But he patted her hands away and settled in the chair comfortably, fully recovered from the fall. Judy was offered the seat beside him, which the man took with great pleasure.
"Dylan couldn't find her," I stated, trying to hold back the surge of emotions in fear of fabricating false hopes.
He sneered at the mention of his name. "Of course, he couldn't. He was the last person whom I wanted to know about your mother's whereabouts."
I didn't question him about that. Late at night, when the exhaustion and fear of dealing with my said-family lifted its weight off my head, and sleep was drained out of my eyes as the memories settled in, that dreadful night had played itself in my head over and over again; everything said and done that day was imprinted on my soul.
Mom had begged him for me. She wanted to take me with her. He had refused to do even that. That time, I was too young to understand what that threat had meant. For me, it was just another one of those random threats and curses that I was habituated to hear. Then, it was simply a threat to not go to ask for help from Uncle William, her brother.
It was only after Dylan came back into my life and I was forced to learn more about the work he did, that I figured the meaning of that threat. It wasn't Uncle William that James was worried about, it was Dylan. By that time, Dylan's startup was already an emerging name in the security industry. James' business was in turmoil. Any conflict with Dylan would have led him to perish.
That was why he had forced my mother to break contact with him.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"Let me propose you a deal, Caro," James said. He leaned towards Judy to say something. In return he was handed a pen and a piece of paper. He took his own sweet time to write whatever he was writing before folding it neatly and leaning back in his chair to make himself more comfortable.
"This is the address that would lead you to your mother," he referred to the note. "Give me the money I asked you to and you can have it."
James raised a hand when I tried to speak. "There's more. Judy here works in the bank, he knows all the procedures and the loopholes. Aaron doesn't have to know anything about it. You give me the money that I need to help my company and you can have your reunion with your mother. This way we both get what we want. Now you can speak."
"How do I know that's the correct address? I've been trying to ask you about her since forever. Why would you give it to me now?" I demanded.
"You did not have millions of dollars in your bank account before, now did you?"
"It was always about money for you," I scoffed.
"Yes, Caroline. Decide faster. Give me the money and get to see your mother again or drop the deal and walk out of the house with nothing except knowing you could have had a different outcome," he said.
He was smiling at me.
He knew he had me. I knew he had me. Yet there was nothing I could do to change the future. It was going to cost me a lot. I was not sure how, because all my thoughts were stuck at the little note he was holding. That note was the hope I never gave myself the luxury of having before.
The hope for getting to see my mother again was clouding my judgment, I was aware of that. But after spending years not knowing if she was alive or if I was ever going to meet her again, that hope was everything to me.
"What do I need to do?" I asked and saw three pairs of eyes light up.
On James' approval, Judy pulled out a bunch of papers from his bag and came to me. "I have everything prepared for you. All you need to do is write me a check and I will manage everything from there. Mr Woodwords would not know anything about it."
"I don't have my checkbook with me right now," I told him. Strangely, it was relieving to know I had an excuse to not do it.
"Oh, that would not be a problem. We can do it digitally. All you need to do is write in the amount and give your digital signature," Judy said, cutting the air with his palm like it was no big deal.
He pulled out his tablet and offered me a stylus to sign it. I typed in the amount that James had asked me to and took the stylus.
I looked over at James before signing it. "The address," I said.
He passed the note to Judy. "Sign it and take it."
I freed my mind of all the thoughts because I knew if I started to try to make sense of the situation, I was never going to reach a conclusion. The thought that I was hurting Aaron by doing this was troubling. He would not want me to give his money to James. Would he still not want me to give it to him even if he knew what I was gaining in return? Would he still remain angry with me when I go back home and confess it all to him? Yes, there was no doubt that I was going to tell him about it. No matter what James said, I knew I had to tell Aaron about it. I would never be able to look him in the eye if I kept a secret from him. I have been surrounded by lies all my life to know better than to start lying to him.
But would he forgive me for what I was going to do?
I almost pulled back, but the folded piece of paper in Judy's hand stopped me. After hundreds of days wishing to see her once again, after millions of seconds spent reminiscing her memories, and after years and years of thoughts where I was willing to sell my soul just to have another moment with her so that I could tell her all the things that I was unable to while she was still here, I was getting a chance to not just have a moment but a chance to have her back in my life. And I could not let that go.
The urge to own that note, to know what was written inside it, and to work on it to find my mother steeled my resolve further.
I scrawled my signature on the tablet.
Judy took a second to review it, then handed me the note. I read the address. Once. Twice. Thrice. By the fourth time it was saved in my memory. I stuffed the paper in my bag and without a second look to the other occupants of the room, bolted out of the mansion.
My car was parked near the entrance. I wasted no time in getting in and driving out of the dreaded place.
I needed to tell this to Aaron. I needed to try and make him understand how important this was for me. He would understand. He misses his mother just as much to know how significant that address was for me.
My phone pinged with several notifications, but I waited till I was back home. I noticed how all of Aaron's cars were parked inside. Was he home?
It was a good thing that he was. I had a lot of explaining to do.
I picked up my phone to skim through the notification before getting out of the car. There was one particular notification from the bank that had arrived a few minutes ago. My heart dropped as I read through it.
A million dollars were withdrawn from my account. A million dollars.
I sat in the car, staring at the amount displayed, re-reading it as if that would change it. My hands were shaking violently. My heart was shuddering inside my chest. And my head felt light.
I dropped the phone on the seat next to me and closed my eyes. A million dollars. How the hell did that happen? I had double checked the amount mentioned before signing it.
Steeling myself, I prepared for the worse. I still needed to tell Aaron about this. I needed to go to him and explain what had happened. I did not want him to think I was betraying him. But why did it feel like that's what I had done? Why did it feel like even after all the explanation, he would still hate me? And why did I feel like I'd deserve all his hatred?
I stepped out of the car and made my way to him.
Aaron was sitting inside our bedroom, on the corner of the bed. His suit jacket and tie lay carelessly on the other side. His hair was a mess and he sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together as he stared—rather glared—at the broken pieces of plastic and glass scattered on the floor. The sim card lying near his foot made me realize it was his broken cell phone.
I had ran to him hoping to have a chance to explain before he would start to hate me.
Looked like I was not going to get that chance.
Looked like he already knew what I had done to him.
Looked like he already hated me for it.
-Analia