1. Ella

Chapter 1

Ella

"Dad, can I talk to you?" After a quick tap against the sturdy wooden door frame, I cautiously enter my father's office. My heart pounds in my chest as I lower my gaze and nervously approach his desk, clutching a letter in my trembling hands. The bright sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows casts a harsh glow on his family photos lining the walls, but I can still make out that I am not among them. It hardly takes a genius to conclude that his younger children—the ones he created with his second wife—are far more important than me, but I push those feelings aside and step closer to his desk.

My father looks up from his work, his gaze meeting mine with a curious expression. Our relationship has never been strong, but I hope he feels a sense of paternal obligation to uphold his promises. At least this once.

"Ella? What are you doing here? Did I miss your birthday again? I apologize, I've been swamped with work." My father's words are laced with surprise and annoyance as he stumbles over my name. His hands flutter over his cluttered desk, searching for an excuse to explain his perceived absence.

I hear the creak of leather as he leans back in his plush office chair, the sound almost drowning out the thump of my beating heart. In a show of false concern, he quickly reaches for his calendar, pretending to check for my birthday when I know he'd never bother to write it down.

"No," I say, barely audible. "I turned twenty-two in July." Memories of past birthdays waiting for my father's visit or call float through my mind, but I push them aside. This isn't the reason for my visit. I need to stay focused.

With a deep breath, I straighten my posture and change the subject before things become more awkward than necessary. I've had twenty long years of neglect and empty promises, and I have become immune to my father's emotional absence.

"I'm here because I received this notice from the university registrar's office." My voice wavers slightly as I lean forward and place the wrinkled letter on his polished desk. Stepping back, I can't help but feel uncomfortable in his presence, like an insignificant speck in his world.

My father quickly unfolds the letter, then removes a pair of glasses from his pocket, before focusing on the contents. His eyes move left to right as he slowly scans the words, taking far more time than necessary for such direct prose. "We discussed this—didn't we?"

I stare, confused, my lashes fluttering wildly as I rack my brain, trying to remember when we ever spoke about my tuition. Our last conversation included no more than five words of obligatory pleasantries. Realizing he's trying to gaslight me or diminish the gravity of my concerns, I quickly counter. "No, we haven't. What is there to discuss? The university dropped me from next semester for nonpayment. But that doesn't make sense."

"Ella, I've had a few setbacks these past months," my father stammers, as beads of sweat form across his balding forehead.

My stomach churns with anxiety and acid. What in the world do his setbacks have to do with me?

"The money for my tuition comes directly from the trust Nana set up for me. Last time I checked, there was more than enough to cover my graduate school expenses if I choose to pursue it. But this morning, after receiving this letter, I checked again and saw that the balance is now less than $200." I somehow summon the courage to indirectly accuse him. "You are the only other person who has access to that account." I keep my voice steady, having promised myself to remain calm.

"Your grandmother made me executor to your trust and ultimately responsible. Like I said, I've had a few unforeseen setbacks and had to dip into it to make up the difference. When I can, I'll replace the money. My lawyer tells me I have two years to do it," my father rambles while he loosens his tie and avoids my gaze.

I'm utterly appalled, but confrontation has never been my strong suit.

"Two years?" What am I supposed to do for two years? This is outrageous, even for him. Furious, but too afraid to scream, kick and set fire to his office, I clench my fists so tightly, my nails dig into my skin. My eyes mist with tears, but I fight like hell to keep him from seeing me cry. "That money not only covers my tuition, it also pays for my housing. As soon as this semester wraps up, I'll be homeless. I need that money, Dad. I've worked hard to finish school early and now you want to set me back two years," I murmur, my voice only slightly above a whisper.

But apparently my voice is loud enough to make him leap out from his desk and rush toward me. He tries to cover my mouth with his hand, but I slip to the side and nearly make him tumble over a chair.

"That was my money—not yours . You must see how unreasonable you're being."

"You're making a scene at my place of business, Ella. Go home and I will call you later to explain," my father hisses through gritted teeth, then rushes to close his door, fearful his colleagues might hear how he's plundered his daughter's college fund.

I steel myself and turn to face him, my cheeks flushed with anger and tears threatening to fall. "You have no plans to continue this conversation. You always do this. You say you'll call, then disappear for months on end, hoping I'll just forget or move on without bothering you. But it doesn't work like that, Dad. Mom remarried and doesn't want me living with her anymore. And I'm getting kicked out of my dorm next week. I'll have nowhere to go, and I don't have enough money to hire a lawyer to make things right. How could you do this to your own daughter?"

"You're old enough to understand that life isn't always fair, kiddo. I promise I'll repay that money as soon as I can." In typical fashion, my father tries to placate me with lies.

My voice comes out as a hushed whisper, my throat constricted with emotion. "I apologize for interrupting you," I manage to choke out, unable to speak any louder. "But there's no need for promises. We both know they mean nothing to you."