“Mom,” Mary was crying now, too, the pieces of the painful puzzle finally falling into place. “I told myself I was protecting you,” Clara said, her voice thick with guilt. “I told myself that you were better off not knowing about a father who supposedly didn’t want you. But the truth is, I was a coward. I should have fought harder. I should have found a way to tell Marcus the truth. Instead, I ran, and kept running, and now…” She looked around their tiny, broken apartment with despair. “Now look at us. You’re selling oranges on the street to buy medicine for me because I’m too sick to work. This is what my fear has brought us to.” Mary threw her arms around her mother and held her tight. They cried together, mourning the lost years, the poverty, the struggle, and the family that had been stolen from them. After a long while, Mary pulled back, a new determination shining in her young eyes. “Mom,” she said firmly. “Marcus didn’t know. He didn’t know about me. His mother lied to both of you.” “I know,” Clara whispered. “I realize that now. But Mary, his mother is still alive. She still has all that power. And if Marcus tells her about you…” “He won’t let her hurt us,” Mary interrupted. “Mom, you should have seen his face. When he found out about you, about me, he cried. Real tears. He said he’s been looking for you for ten years. He said he never stopped loving you.” Clara’s breath caught in her throat. “He said that?” “Yes. And he gave me his phone number. He wants to see you. He wants to talk.” Mary pulled out the piece of paper Marcus had given her. “He said to tell you that he’s not angry. He just wants to understand what happened.”
Clara took the paper with trembling hands. She stared at the numbers written in Marcus’s familiar handwriting, a script she hadn’t seen in a decade. “I don’t know if I can face him,” she whispered. “How can I explain why I kept his daughter from him for nine years? How can I ask him to forgive me?” “The same way he’s asking you to forgive him for not finding you sooner,” Mary said with a wisdom that belied her years. “Mom, you were scared, and you made a mistake. But you did it to protect me. And now… now maybe we can finally be a real family.” Clara looked at her daughter—this brave, strong, beautiful girl who had grown up without a father because of choices made in fear. She thought of Marcus, of the love they had shared, of the years of loneliness. And she thought of that woman, Marcus’s mother, who had torn their world apart. “What if his mother tries to hurt us again?” Clara asked quietly. “Then we face her together,” Mary said. “You, me, and Dad. As a family.” The word “dad” coming from Mary’s lips made Clara’s heart break and heal all at once. “You really want him in your life?” Clara asked. “Even though he wasn’t there before?” “He wasn’t there because he didn’t know,” Mary said simply. “But now he knows. And Mom, we need help. You’re sick. We have no money. And I’m tired of being afraid and alone. Aren’t you tired too?”
Clara was tired. More tired than she had ever been in her life. Tired of running, of hiding, of being constantly afraid. She looked down at the phone number in her hand and made a decision. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay. Tomorrow, when I’m feeling a little stronger, we’ll call him.” “Why not today?” Mary asked. “Because I need time to think about what to say. And I need to take the medicine you bought so I can at least sit up without coughing.” Clara managed a weak, watery smile. “I don’t want the first time I see Marcus in ten years to be while I’m lying on this dirty mattress looking like death.” Mary giggled through her own tears. “Okay, Mom. Tomorrow, then.” She helped her mother lie back down and then went out to buy the medicine with some of the money Marcus had given them. As she walked to the pharmacy, Mary’s mind was a whirlwind. She had a father. A real father who wanted to meet her. But she also had a grandmother who sounded like a monster. She wondered what would happen when Marcus told his mother about them. Would the old woman try to hurt them again? Mary didn’t know, but as she walked back to the apartment with the medicine in her bag, she clung fiercely to the new, fragile feeling of hope.
That night, Mary lay awake on the mattress next to her fitfully sleeping mother, staring at the cracked ceiling. Her mind kept returning to the mansion, the photograph, the sound of Marcus’s tears. She thought of all the nights she had wished for a father, all the times she’d felt different and incomplete. Now she knew why. Next to her, Clara mumbled in her sleep, “Marcus? I’m sorry. So sorry.” Mary reached over and held her mother’s hand until she settled down. When morning came, sunlight streamed through the broken window. Mary got up quietly and used some of the money to buy bread and eggs from the store downstairs. She cooked breakfast on the hot plate, a rare luxury. The smell of food woke Clara, who sat up slowly. Mary was relieved to see a little more color in her mother’s face; the medicine was working. “You cooked,” Clara said with surprise. “I wanted you to have something good to eat before…” Mary trailed off, her eyes drifting to the piece of paper with Marcus’s number on the table. Clara followed her gaze and took a deep breath. “Before I call him.”
They ate in silence, both lost in their thoughts about what would come next. When they finished, Clara picked up the paper, her hands trembling. “There’s a payphone downstairs,” Mary said. “I have coins.” Clara nodded, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. She still looked weak, but there was a new resolve in her eyes. They walked downstairs together to the old, scratched payphone in the lobby. Clara took the coins from Mary and stood before the phone for a long moment, just staring at it. “What if he’s angry when he hears my voice?” she whispered. “He won’t be,” Mary said confidently. “He told me to tell you he’s not angry. He just wants to talk.” Clara nodded, and with shaking fingers, she dialed the number. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Clara almost hung up, her heart pounding wildly. But then… “Hello?” came Marcus’s voice through the receiver. Clara’s breath caught. It was him. After ten years of silence, it was really him. “Marcus,” she whispered. “It’s… it’s Clara.”
There was a profound silence on the other end. For a terrible moment, Clara thought he had hung up. But then she heard him take a sharp, ragged breath. “Clara?” he said, his voice laden with shock, joy, pain, and disbelief. “Clara, is it really you?” “Yes,” she said, tears now rolling down her cheeks. “It’s me.” “Where are you?” Marcus asked urgently. “Are you okay? Mary said you were sick. Do you need a doctor? I can send—” “Marcus, please,” Clara interrupted gently. “I’m okay. The medicine is helping. I just… I needed to call you. I needed to explain.” “You don’t have to explain anything over the phone,” Marcus said quickly. “Please, let me come see you. Let me see you with my own eyes. I need to know you’re real, that this isn’t just a dream.” Clara closed her eyes. She wanted to see him, too. So badly it was a physical ache. But she was still terrified. “Marcus, there are things you need to know. Things about why I left. Things about your mother.” “I don’t care about any of that right now,” Marcus said, his voice firm but gentle. “Clara, for ten years I thought you had left because you didn’t love me. For ten years I blamed myself, thinking I had done something wrong. And now I find out you’ve been alive all this time, and you had my daughter.” His voice broke. “Our daughter, Clara. We have a daughter.”..
