Vanessa;
"Please, Dad… Please, don't make me do this." I pleaded with my father. My voice breaks, and my eyes suddenly become moist as I try to hold back my tears.
My father stared at me, his face unreadable. "It's been eight years, Vanessa. Eight good years. What makes you think you can just come back here and ask for money?"
His words struck like a blade. I broke down completely, dropping to my knees in front of him.
"I beg you, Dad…My little boy is lying helpless in the hospital. He needs me more than ever. I can't abandon him–not now".
"He's not even your real son," he spat.
"What?" I cried, pain ripping through my chest.
"He's six. He has leukaemia! And you think that doesn't matter just because I didn't give birth to him?"
Elvis wasn't my biological son. He was the son of my best friend—no, my sister in every way but blood.
After she died, I promised I'd care for him like my own. Adopting him was never a question. It was the least I could do for all she'd done for me.
Now, as he was in this condition, I was willing to do anything to make sure he got better.
"You made your choice when you decided to cut ties with your family, Vanessa!" My father shouted.
He sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his drink swirling in his hand like none of this mattered.
"And you think forcing me to marry Scot Greyson is the best way to fix that?" I asked through gritted teeth, sobbing harder. I pressed my palms together, lowering myself completely to the floor. "Please don't make me marry a man I don't love. I swear I'll repay the money—just don't do this to me!"
He scoffed and went silent for a moment as he took another sip from his drink
This wasn't the father I knew.
The man before me was calculated, cold– a stranger.
Where had the man who used to tuck me in at night gone? Who protected me from bullies and invisible monsters under the bed? Who cheered at my school plays, the man who had little but gave me endless love?
Where did he go?
"We both know you have no job," he said flatly. "Come on, Vanessa, this is the only way you can repay me."
I turned my head toward the doorway, where my stepmother Shirley stood, arms crossed, watching me like a vulture. I ran to her.
"Please… help me talk to him. He's just a little ki—"
"Don't touch me!" She yelled, recoiling as if my presence burned her.
She sneered. "Just look at yourself," she says after examining me for a second. I didn't realise that I had become a crying mess.
"Don't you have any shame? You left, and now expect to waltz back in and get what you want? That's not how this works, sweetheart. "
Her voice was venomous, but I wasn't surprised; she wouldn't have helped in any way, either.
Ever since she entered our lives, our home has been a chaotic mess, she'd worked tirelessly to win my father's affection at my expense. She turned our home into a battlefield, manipulating him to favour her and her daughter.
And by doing so, I was the scapegoat of her deceptive scheme, the villain in her story.
Her presence left an everlasting crack in the relationship I had with my father.
I couldn't keep up with the torture both she and her daughter made me go through; I had no choice but to leave, and even after eight years, my father was still dancing to her tune.
I had vowed never to return to this house, let alone ask for help from them.
But desperation has a way of swallowing pride. I wasn't here for forgiveness. I didn't want shelter. I came for help.
At this point, I didn't care about how hurtful and deep their words might affect me. I was beyond vulnerable, and all I wanted was to save my little boy.
"I gave you an option, a very good offer, Vanessa; it is left for you to decide," my father announced, his brows tightening as he hoped to get an answer. I shake my head slowly in disgust, tears still plunging down my eyes, making my vision blurry. I tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my palm, but the more I tried, the more it streamed down.
"But I can't do—" A buzzing sound shrouded the room, cutting me off from speaking any further. My father reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He raised a finger, signaled be quiet as he answered.
"Yes, Arthur?… Right now?… Alright, I'm on my way."
He set his glass on the nearby table and stood, adjusting his suit jacket.
"Since you have nothing else to say, then I better leave. I have some business to take care of"
He walked over to Shirley, kissed her forehead, and moved toward the door.
My heart sank, panic gripped my chest, if he walked out now, i.had nothing. He was my last hope.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as different thoughts commandeered my mind, sending a fresh wave of panic through me.
I tried to reason with myself–tried to believe marrying Scot Greyson might somehow be worth it, but nothing seemed to ease the rapid beat of my heart.
He reached for the doorknob.
No, not yet.
"Wait!"