Chapter 25

The moment I landed back in California, I took Lana up on her offer and accepted the administration role at her law firm. It paid decently, but to top up my funds, considering I was starting with absolutely nothing, I took on a night job at a local bar serving patrons.

My mother would die on the spot knowing her daughter was waitressing.

“You don’t need to work two jobs. This is your home too and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Lana reminded me every single day.

“I know,” I always responded the same. “But I need to get my own place and learn how to be a responsible adult.”

On the weekends, I volunteer at one of the homeless women’s shelters downtown. Whatever I did during the week would balance my yearn to give back. I’m not stupid—the silver spoon I once owned had to have taught me something about life. Truth be told, giving myself to those in need made me happy. I didn’t have money to throw around or donate, but my time was more valuable than anything.

Life has been one lesson after another. I constantly find myself learning new things. Things which come so easily to people around me, yet in so many ways, my wealthy upbringing sheltered me from reality.

The change brought on waves of emotions. It’s mentally draining, but it is my life now. Every decision I make comes straight from my head and heart.

And true to form, my family has shunned me.

But I haven’t once regretted my decision to leave.

Yet, the shock of the revelation of my true paternity began to consume me. I’m already emotionally unstable, trying my best to find my feet as well as gain confidence in what feels like a whole new world.

Several times I’ve reached out to my mother—spur-of-the-moment desperation to learn more about my biological father.

Time after time, I hear nothing in return.

Then one day, she responds with a letter.

Dear Gabriella,

I thought it was best to write you this letter as contact with you is forbidden in our family.

I am saddened by your decision to leave, the aftermath a punishment for my indiscretion twenty-five years ago.

However, I understand your desire to trace your heritage and believe I owe you at least that.

Miles Kelly was his name. An Australian swimming champion I met at your grandmother’s Annual Charity Ball.

While it may be difficult for you to understand, I want you to know that I loved him. Miles was more than a fleeting affair. He was a man willing to give me everything. Miles loved me, and in the short time we were together, my world completely changed.

If things were different, maybe your life would have been different. But as you know, the Carmichael monarchy doesn’t allow for such a scandal. Edward found out, Mile’s visa was canceled, and I never saw him again.

I found out months later I was pregnant with you. In ways, finding out at fourteen weeks was a blessing, or Edward would have forced me to terminate. He refused for anyone to learn of my indiscretion and demanded his name be on your birth certificate.

Miles was originally from Australia, and from memory, his parents owned a bakery in the Blue Mountains called The Mile Stop. Perhaps, if you trace the whereabouts of that place, it may lead you to him.

I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than this. My talking to you may cause you more damage than good.

Take care of yourself.

Your Mother.

I wiped the tears away with every word I read. Emotional pain has a biological purpose—it is the foundation of becoming a warrior. It educates us to reevaluate the unhealthy relationships surrounding us. It makes you question your beliefs, wreaks havoc on your soul, but most importantly, it sings to your heart. A song of truth, a melody only you can play.

At times, I find myself strong enough to pursue my father, Miles. But like a strong current building from an impending storm, I’m easily swept away into self-pity mode, imagining how different my life could have been if my mother followed her true love.

During these self-destructive moments, my childhood replays like an old-time movie. My father, as I know him, has always treated me as an outsider. I was never good enough to be his daughter and never enough for our family. I was destined to be a disgrace to the family because I did not carry the Carmichael blood.

But the universe has a way of guiding us when darkness blinds our vision.

Sebastian had a business opportunity requiring a visit to Australia. I knew Oliver had returned to Sydney after hearing Sebastian mention it to Lana one day.

Lana was excited to visit Sebastian’s hometown for the first time, and to my surprise, they asked me to come along. At first, I politely declined. But it wasn’t long after, and only last week, the man who is supposedly my father responded to the message I’d sent to him on social media.

I was surprised, shocked, half expecting him to tell me he isn’t interested in any communication. I researched and read many stories of adoptive kids tracing their biological parents. My situation was unique, but nevertheless had the same sentiments. The good part, Miles wanted contact, a chance to explain what happened twenty-five years ago and to finally meet me.

And hello universe—he lives in Sydney.

It made sense to travel with Lana and Sebastian. A fourteen-hour flight warranted traveling companions. What didn’t make sense was to throw Oliver back into the equation.

There was a feeling in my gut that said move on—he hasn’t called you nor bothered to track you down.

What’s done is done.

Yet, another feeling in my heart says, fix the mess you’ve contributed to. This isn’t his fault. Oliver gave me the ultimatum, told me he loved me, and I chose to walk away out of fear.

My courage begins to build with every step I take closer to his apartment. Perhaps it’s wrong of me to ask Sebastian to somehow gain me access to Oliver’s apartment when the concierge refused my entry. But he happily did so, not exactly sure how, and now I’m standing in the foyer, knocking on the door, but I’m met with dead silence.

Then I hear the ping of the elevator and feminine laughter behind the doors. The second they open, there he stands, as handsome as I remember him, dressed in a formal blue tuxedo.

A woman is draped over his arm. Her posture’s loose, and she’s somewhat intoxicated.

The shock paralyzes his face, rendering him speechless. A stupid part of me was expecting his welcoming smile, but nothing comes. Instead, his mouth remains an uncharacteristic grim line amid his barely-there stubble. Almost robotically, his hand rises toward the door handle, ignoring the blonde’s babble as he fumbles for his keys.

He’s being anything but inviting.

Callous words, refuting my need to apologize follow.

“It’s a bit too late for apologies. I think it’s best you leave. Besides, I’ve got someone here, and she’s waiting.”

He’s every bit the arrogant Aussie I remember him to be, and somewhere during his need to fight me, I crumble.

I wanted to remind him how we shared our vulnerabilities more readily than trading cards, experienced a new world away from home in which we both found love. I desperately wanted to tell him how I visited our pier on my morning runs, listen to songs that remind me of him, and how I would sleep on his side of the bed with the same pillow he slept on in my arms.

But most importantly, I wanted to tell him I still loved him.

That feeling, despite time lapsing, has never faded away.

But I did none of that.

I walked away because he has moved on.

The nausea swirled like a vicious tornado inside my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets.

I shouldn’t have walked away.

If only I went with him to his appointment.

If only I had half the strength I have now, could I have said I love you when it was right for me to admit that to him?

My heart is torn into pieces, already fragile from the broken state my mistakes have left it in. My melancholy mood and nerves over meeting Miles tomorrow hangs over me like a black storm cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me in bucketloads.

Seeing Oliver has fueled the flame burning out of control.

There’s no way to extinguish a flame of that magnitude. So instead, I cry myself to sleep, a mixture of releasing emotions and my utter exhaustion. The weight of the world is resting heavily on my weakened shoulders.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

I will finally meet the man who should have been my father from the moment I was born.

The man who stole my mother’s heart, just like Oliver had stolen mine.