Page 109 of When Hearts Ignite

This is the spot that ended my innocence almost nineteen years ago. When I found out Father wasn’t a god, but a human, and he wasn’t perfect. When I found out he had no heart to give us because he already gave it to a woman and a sad little girl under the pouring rain on a starless night. When I felt unwanted and unworthy because he said he would’ve left us if it weren’t for his company and legacy.

When I wanted a hug I didn’t receive.

When my heart broke into a thousand pieces and never truly healed.

The thought sobers me, clouding the good memories with a cloak of darkness and a heaviness creeps in and makes its home on my chest.

Fisting my hands, I straighten up and take a deep breath, attempting to dislodge the anvil sitting on top of my rib cage.

I’m here to rewrite the ending. To tell this man he made the right choice by staying behind all those years ago, that despite his heartbreak and the way the heavens cried alongside him that night, his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

Because I saved his legacy, the thing he cares most about in the entire world.

Because I’m worthy.

With that thought, I square my shoulders and unlock the front door, stepping inside the quiet foyer.

Mabel, the housekeeper, a portly woman with a kind face, comes to the door and greets me, but I shake my head. “I’ll find my parents on my own. Thank you.”

At this hour, Father should be sitting in the dining room, reading his newspapers—the old-school paper ones because he’s a traditionalist—a frown on his face as he peruses the current events. Mother would be next to him, drinking tea and prattling about their social calendars or the gossip of the day, which would earn her an occasional grunt or response from Father.

I hear Mother’s one-sided conversation as I approach the dining room.

Some things never change.

And yet, many things have changed over the years.

Stepping inside the spacious room, lit up by the morning light streaming in from the large grid windows, my parents look up at me in surprise.

“Steven!” Mother gets up, her hair perfectly coiffed, her hands smoothing over the nonexistent wrinkles on her cream couture dress. “We weren’t expecting you to visit.”

She beams as she flutters around the room and hollers for the housekeeper to bring a set of silverware and some breakfast items.

Father sets down his newspaper and smiles at me, but the warmth doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks skinnier than when I saw him last. His gray-streaked hair is almost completely white. His complexion is sullen and pale. He looks like he has given up and is barely clinging to life.

I take a seat on the right side of him as Mabel sets down a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of toast, ham, and eggs. I thank her then stare at my parents, who have now given me their full attention, no doubt wondering about the purpose of my surprise visit.

After clearing my throat, I bring the coffee to my lips and take a sip. My fingers tremble. My pulse races. My palms grow sweaty.

Turning to Father, I say, “Father, as of last night, Timothy Voss was arrested for a multitude of corporate crimes. I imagine the news will break soon if it hasn’t already.”

Father straightens up, a tenseness radiating from his frail frame.

“I gathered some evidence of his wrongdoings and worked with the feds to take him down. The TransAmerica takeover will not happen. I know I didn’t do it your way, but sometimes, we need to bend the rules to win the game. We can’t bring our fists to a gunfight and expect to win.” Grace’s wise words. Staring at him, I swallow, watching his eyes widen as the implications sink in.

“TransAmerica is safe, Father. Your legacy is s-safe.” My voice breaks toward the end and I watch a wet sheen appearing in Father’s eyes. He trembles, his arms and hands shaking on the table, clearly from disbelief and shock.

Suddenly, it’s as if a flame that was sniffed out has renewed, the fire growing as the seconds pass by.

“T-TransAmerica is s-safe?” His hands shake as he clutches his mug in a tight grip, his favorite mug with the R inscribed and the small handprint.

I swallow and nod. My heart beats a resounding rhythm. “Yes. We did it.”

He heaves out a deep breath, his mouth opening as if he’s trying to speak, but no words come out. He takes a few more gulps of air; the mug in his hand clattering against the table in an erratic rhythm, and the tea sloshes out, but he pays no notice.

“I-It’s safe,” he repeats, his eyes widening and taking on a faraway look, almost like he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream.

Mother claps, her normally terse face warming instantly. She turns to Father. “Robert, what did I tell you? Steven would save the company. I knew he would do it, and you were so despondent over nothing. Your son is brilliant, just like you—”

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