The question hung in the air between them, fragile and momentous. Marcus looked at this brave, sweet girl who had walked into his life selling oranges, and he felt his heart break and mend simultaneously. “I don’t know for certain yet,” he said honestly. “But Mary, I think I might be. And if I am…” His voice cracked with the weight of it. “If I am, then I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry you had to grow up without a father. I’m sorry your mother had to struggle alone. Because if I had known, if I had known you existed, nothing in this world could have kept me away.” Tears now rolled freely down Mary’s own cheeks. She didn’t understand everything, but she understood enough. She understood that this man had loved her mother. She understood that something had gone terribly wrong a long time ago. And she understood that maybe, just maybe, her quiet prayers for a family were being answered. “I’ll tell my mom,” she said. “I’ll tell her everything.” With that, Mary turned and ran down the path, through the silent garden, and out the gate. She ran all the way home, her heart pounding, the money clutched tightly in her hand, and a hope she had never dared to feel before blooming brightly in her chest.
She flew through the familiar, rundown streets, her empty bag bouncing at her side. She no longer felt the heat or the ache in her feet; her entire being was focused on getting home. When she finally reached the old apartment building on 7th Street, she took the creaking stairs two at a time. The building was in a sad state of disrepair, with peeling paint, a persistent smell of damp, and stairs that groaned with every step. But it was home. She pushed open the door to room 12; it was never locked, as they possessed nothing worth stealing. “Mom?” Mary called out, breathless from her run. “Mom, you won’t believe what happened!” The apartment was a single small room with a tiny bathroom in the corner. A thin mattress on the floor served as their bed, and their possessions consisted of a small table, two chairs, and a single hot plate. The walls were stained and cracked, and the lone window had a broken latch. Clara was lying on the mattress, covered with their only blanket despite the day’s warmth. She tried to sit up when she heard Mary, but the movement triggered a deep, wracking cough that shook her frail body. “Mary,” Clara said weakly when the fit subsided. “You’re back early. Did something happen?”
Mary knelt beside her mother and pulled the money from her pocket. “Mom, look! A man bought all my oranges, and he gave me this. One hundred dollars! We can buy your medicine now and still have money left for food.” Clara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the bills. “What? Mary, that’s too much money. Did you steal this?” “No, Mom, I promise! A man gave it to me. A rich man who lives in a huge mansion. He was so nice and…” Mary’s excitement faltered as she remembered the photograph. Her expression shifted to one of confusion and concern. Clara saw the change instantly. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Mary took a deep, steadying breath. “Mom? The man’s name is Marcus.” All the color instantly drained from Clara’s face. She looked as if she’d been physically struck. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened with shock and pure fear. “What? What did you say?” Clara whispered, her voice trembling. “His name is Marcus,” Mary repeated. “And Mom, he had your picture. In his house. A picture of you when you were younger, smiling in a blue dress.”
Clara began to shake, not from her fever, but from a deep, visceral terror. She grabbed Mary’s arms, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so weak. “Mary, listen to me very carefully,” Clara said, her voice urgent and frightened. “What did you tell him? What did he say to you? Did he hurt you?” “No, Mom, he didn’t hurt me! He was nice. He cried when I told him you were my mother. He said he’s been looking for you for ten years. Mom, what’s going on? How do you know him?” Clara released Mary’s arms and covered her face with her hands, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. He found us. After all this time, he found us.” “Mom, you’re scaring me,” Mary said, tears starting to form. “Why are you so afraid? Marcus seemed like a good person. He gave us money. He wants to help.” “You don’t understand!” Clara cried out, before being seized by another coughing fit, worse than the last. When it finally ended, tears were streaming down her face. “Mary, we have to leave. We have to pack whatever we can carry and leave this city tonight.” “What? Why?” Mary was utterly bewildered. “Mom, I don’t understand. Why do we have to run away?”
Clara tried to stand but was too weak, collapsing back onto the mattress, breathing heavily. “Because… because his family will never let us be together. Because they’ll try to take you away from me. Because…” She broke down into heart-wrenching sobs. “Because I’ve been hiding you from him for nine years, and now that he knows about you, everything I did to protect us might not matter anymore.” Mary sat down beside her mother, her mind reeling. Protect them? From what? From who? Clara looked at her daughter’s innocent, confused face and realized she couldn’t run anymore. She was too sick, too weak, and too tired of carrying the burden alone. Maybe it was finally time for the truth. “Mary,” Clara said softly, wiping her tears. “I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago, but I was too afraid.” Mary took her mother’s hand and held it tight. “What is it, Mom?” Clara drew a shaky breath. “Marcus… Marcus is your father.”
Even though she had suspected it, even though a part of her had known from the moment she saw his tears, hearing the words spoken aloud made them real in a way that stole her breath. “He’s my dad?” Mary whispered. “Really?” “Yes,” Clara said, tears flowing freely now. “He’s your father. And I loved him, Mary. I loved him so much it hurt. He was kind and gentle and good. Everything about him was wonderful.” “Then why did you leave him?” Mary asked, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell him about me? Why have we been living like this when he has so much money and could have helped us?” Clara’s face crumpled with a decade’s worth of pain and regret. “Because I had no choice,” she said. “Because his mother, your grandmother, is a powerful, terrible woman who didn’t think I was good enough for her son. When she found out I was pregnant with you, she threatened me.” “Threatened you? How?”
Clara closed her eyes, the memory as vivid as if it were yesterday. “She came to me in the middle of the night with two large men. She told me that if I didn’t disappear and never contact Marcus again, she would make sure I went to prison. She said she would accuse me of stealing from their family, and that she had enough money and power to make sure I was locked away forever. She said Marcus would never believe me over his own mother.” Mary’s eyes filled with horrified tears. “That’s horrible.” “She gave me a thousand dollars and told me to leave the city immediately,” Clara continued. “She said if I ever tried to contact Marcus or tell him about the baby, she would destroy me. And Mary, I was so scared. I was just twenty years old, pregnant, with no family and no money. I didn’t know what to do.” “But why didn’t you tell Dad—I mean, Marcus—the truth? Why didn’t you let him help you?” “Because I tried,” Clara sobbed. “I called him the next day from the bus station. I wanted to tell him everything. But his mother answered the phone. She told me that Marcus never wanted to see me again, that he knew I was just after his money, and that if I ever called again she would have me arrested. Then she hung up.” Clara clutched Mary’s hand tighter. “I didn’t know if it was true or if she was lying. But I was so young and so scared. So I got on that bus and I left. I went to another city and had you there, all alone. I named you Mary because it means ‘beloved,’ and you were the most beloved thing in my life.”…
