"Time for what?" she asked, her confusion mixing with her shock.
She felt like the ground beneath her feet was shifting.
He looked around the small office briefly, his gaze taking in the old furniture, the worn carpet.
"You have lived here long enough," he said. "You will be coming with me."
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
Coming with him? Leaving? How could she just go with him? Why had he thought she'd even do that?
The orphanage might not have been perfect. It might not have been warm or full of laughter all the time. But it was hers. It was the only place that had not abandoned her. It was her home.
Clara. The children, her tiny room, all of that had been her life for the past twenty two years.
"You can't just show up and take me," she said, more sharply than she expected.
"I can," he replied evenly. "And I will."
Sister Agnes finally spoke, her voice careful. "Emily, we have verified his documents. The records confirm what he is saying."
Emily looked at her in disbelief. "You knew?" she whispered.
Sister Agnes's eyes softened. "We only found out after he came yesterday."
Everything was happening too fast that she had barely enough time to think. Emily looked back at Victor.
If he was her father… why did she feel no warmth? No connection? And no relief whatsoever?
Why was she feeling only confusion and fear?
"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked quietly.
He met her eyes steadily. "Because it was not necessary."
The answer landed like a slap to her face.
Not necessary. Her entire existence had not been necessary. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"So what happens now?" she asked.
Victor straightened his jacket. "Now, you come home."
Home. The word sounded foreign in her ears. For twenty-two years, she had dreamed of someone walking through that gate and saying they had been searching for her.
But she had imagined tears, apologies and open arms, not this. Not a stranger in an expensive suit speaking like he was discussing a business deal.
She studied his face again, searching desperately for something human.
"Do you…" Her voice cracked slightly. "Do you even know what my favorite color is?"
The question surprised even her but she still looked at him for an answer.
Victor paused, clearly not expecting that. "No," he answered honestly.
Emily swallowed hard. Of course he didn't. What had she been expecting? He did not know that she hated loud thunderstorms. That she loved reading old romance novels or that she used to count the stars at night and wonder if one of them belonged to her real parents.
He did not know her and yet he claimed her. Her hands trembled slightly, but she forced her voice to stay steady.
"No," she said finally, the word surprising even her.
Victor's expression did not change. "No?"
"I can't go with you." Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. "I don't know you."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "I just told you who I am."
"You told me," she corrected softly. "That doesn't make it true."
Silence filled the room. Sister Agnes shifted uncomfortably behind her, but Emily did not turn around. She kept her eyes on him.
"You show up after twenty-two years," she continued, her voice shaking now despite her effort, "and you expect me to just believe you? To just pack my things and follow you?"
"I have documents," he said calmly.
"Documents can be forged," she said, the words coming out quicker, and sharper than she intended. But she did not take them back.
For years, she had built walls around her heart because every time hope grew, it died and she was tired of burying it.
"You could be lying," she said quietly. "You could be anyone."
His jaw tightened slightly. "I am not lying."
"But how do I know that?" she pressed. Her eyes burned now. "How do I know you're not some man who saw my name on a file and decided to play with it?"
"I gain nothing from deception," he replied evenly.
"Well, you gain me," she whispered, and that made him pause to think.
She swallowed hard and then shrugged. "The last thing I want," she said slowly, choosing each word carefully, "is to believe this… to believe I have a father… and then find out it's not true."
Her voice cracked on the last word. For the first time since walking into the room, her pain showed clearly. It was her fear. Fear of wanting something too much.
Victor studied her quietly. "You require proof," he said at last.
She tilted her head as she said, "Yes."
"A DNA test," she continued, gathering courage as she spoke. "If you're really my father, then you'd have to prove it."
The room went silent again. Sister Agnes looked relieved.
Victor did not argue. Instead, he gave a short nod. "Very well then."
The agreement came so easily that it unsettled her.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. "I anticipated this reaction."
"We can arrange a test immediately," he said. "A private laboratory. Results within twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-four hours," she whispered back.
Her life reduced to one day of waiting.
He stepped closer to the desk and placed the card down.
"I will need a sample."
Her stomach twisted as it dawned on her that all this was real. All this was actually happening.
She hesitated only a second before nodding. "Fine."
The nurse from the local clinic, who had been waiting outside earlier for paperwork, was called in. The process was quick. In seconds, a sample was taken.
Just like that, her entire existence was reduced to something that could be proven or denied in a lab.
When it was done, Victor slipped the sealed envelope into his jacket.
"I will return tomorrow," he said. "With the results."
He held her gaze again, steady and unwavering. "And you should begin preparing," he added calmly. "Because once you see the proof, you will be leaving with me."
Her breath caught. The certainty in his voice made her chest tighten.
"You're very sure," she said softly.
"I do not deal in uncertainty," he replied.
Then he turned toward the door and without any hint of hesitation of parting from a long lost daughter, or even wanting a hug, he walked to the door.
The office door opened and closed and just like that, he was gone.
Emily stood in the same spot long after the engine of the black car faded from the distance.
Her legs felt weak. Her world felt unsteady.
"Emily."
Clara's voice broke through the silence. She rushed forward the moment the hallway cleared and pulled Emily into a tight hug.
"Are you okay?" Clara asked quickly.
Emily didn't answer at first. She just stared at the door.
"He's coming back tomorrow," she whispered.
Clara pulled back slightly. "With proof?" she asked, and Emily nodded.
The word father echoed in her mind like something foreign.
"I don't know how to feel," she admitted quietly.
Clara frowned. "Feel happy."
Emily looked at her, almost startled. "Happy?"
"Yes! Em, someone came for you. Do you know how many of those children wait for that? How many pray for that? You know how long we prayed for it until someone came to adopt me. I guess it's because of my prayers of wanting someone to take you too that touched him to remember you."
Emily's chest tightened. "I stopped praying for it after you left," she said softly.
Clara's expression softened. "I know."
"You don't understand," Emily continued, her voice trembling. "What if it's true? What if he is my father?"
"Then that's wonderful."
"What if he isn't?" she shot back. "What if I let myself believe it and tomorrow he hands me a paper that says I'm wrong again? What if I get my hopes high just to watch them fall?"
Tears finally slipped down her cheeks. "I don't think I can survive that again," she whispered.
Clara held her shoulders firmly. "Listen to me," Clara said gently but firmly. "Even if he turns out not to be your father, that doesn't mean you're unworthy. It just means he's wrong."
Emily shook her head. "It changes everything," she said. "If he's telling the truth… then my whole life was a lie. Why did he come now? It's my birthday in a few days."
Clara squeezed her hands. "You know what? I'll help you look into him," she said firmly. "Victor Hale. If he's wealthy, there will be records. News. Articles. My… father can help us find information."
Emily's heart skipped. "You'd do that?"
"Of course I would. You're not walking into anything blind."
Emily nodded slowly. In twenty-four hours, she would know whether she had a father. Whether she had been abandoned… or hidden.
She wiped her tears and looked toward the gate where the black car had disappeared. For twenty-two years, she had felt unwanted.
Now, for the first time, someone had claimed her, yet somehow, that scared her more.