But most importantly, I wanted to tell him I still loved him.
That feeling, despite time lapsing, has never faded away.
But I did none of that.
I walked away because he has moved on.
The nausea swirled like a vicious tornado inside my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets.
I shouldn’t have walked away.
If only I went with him to his appointment.
If only I had half the strength I have now, could I have said I love you when it was right for me to admit that to him.
My heart’s torn into pieces, already fragile from the broken state my mistakes have left it in. My melancholy mood and nerves over meeting Miles tomorrow hangs over me like a black storm cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me in bucket loads.
Seeing Oliver has fueled the flame burning out of control.
There’s no way to extinguish a flame of that magnitude. So instead, I cry myself to sleep, a mixture of releasing emotions and my utter exhaustion. The weight of the world is resting heavily on my weakened shoulders.
Tomorrow will be a new day.
I will finally meet the man who should have been my father from the moment I was born.
The man who stole my mother’s heart, just like Oliver had stolen mine.
Gabriella
I find myself in a state of panic all day long.
Miles agreed to meet me in the lobby of the hotel.
The day I’ve been anxiously waiting for is here. Everything hinges on this moment, and once done, it can never be undone.
I changed my outfit three times and barely ate any food but rather survived on caffeine. Australian coffee had a nice taste unlike the stuff back home. It’s much stronger which probably explains my jittery hand and inability to slow down my heart rate.
Butterflies swarm in my stomach, my head buzzing with possibilities.
What if he doesn’t like me?
What if he tells me to stay out of his life?
I’m not sure if I have the strength within me to face rejection from someone who is supposedly my family.
Inside the lobby, I nervously check my surroundings. I’ve seen pictures of him on social media, so I know what he looks like.
A tall man, exactly like the photographs, walks toward me with a welcoming smile. Unknowingly, the breath I’d been holding releases at a steady pace.
Trust your gut.
Everything will be okay.
Upon seeing him for the first time, I examined all his features, stunned by our resemblances—the shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, even the arch of his brows.
“You must be Gabriella.” His smile captures his sentiments, and just like me, I watch him examine my features with a nostalgic expression. “You’re beautiful. Just like your mother.”
“And you must be Miles…” I pause, unsure of what to call him. “Or should I be calling your Mr. Kelly?”
“Miles is just fine.”
Standing here in the lobby proves awkward, so Miles suggests a quaint restaurant a block down.
We commence our walk past the other establishments and a load of Japanese tourists exiting a large coach. Miles tells me about his exchange-student program in high school which led to a year in Japan. To this day, he’s still fluent in Japanese.
“Japan, wow. So how did swimming come into play?”
We take a seat inside the restaurant by the large bay window. It’s not as busy or rowdy as the hotels we walked past, yet a perfect place to eat and talk without shouting through loud noises.
“I was a strong swimmer growing up, and my height proved an advantage. I tried out for the state championship, won first place, and a retired Olympic coach recruited and introduced me to all the right people. The rest is… well, a long story.” He laughs, grabbing the menu and quickly scanning it before placing it down again.
My father was an athlete.
I can’t help but be proud.
“I… I just want you to know that meeting you means a lot to me.” I stumble on my words, riddled by my emotions. In front of me sits my biological father, a man whose blood runs through my veins. He’s nothing like Edward Carmichael, they couldn’t be more worlds apart.
A waitress arrives at our table. Miles orders the chicken parmigiana while I choose the barramundi and salad. We both settle for a glass of chardonnay which is served moments later.
“I’ll admit I knew of your existence. But I was young at the time, and your father was… he made sure I was not to see Melinda ever again.”
“He’s n-not my father,” I stammer.
“Gabriella… I’m sorry. I should have fought to be in your life, but I had commitments back home. A family who needed me.”
“You were married?”
“At the time, no. My parents had a business here, and my grandparents were elderly. We had a lot of health complications in the family, then my career kind of whisked me away again.”
I have so many questions I want to ask him, my curiosity overwhelming me. The last thing I want to do is push him away, though.
Calm down. There will be a time and place for everything.
“Did you ever marry? I mean… after my mother?”
The corner of his eyes crinkled—his hazel eyes are the same shade as mine.
“I did, about five years later. Her name was Marjorie. We had twin boys, they’re eighteen now.”
“I have brothers?” I ask, shocked at the revelation. “Twins… wow.”
He nods, removing his phone from his pocket. After swiping through, he turns his phone around and shows me a photograph. They’re identical—tall, dark blond hair with athletic builds. They are handsome, indeed.
“I’m… I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m glad we’ve met Gabriella.”
“Does your wife Marjorie know about me?”
“She’s no longer my wife. We divorced a few years ago, but she is a close friend, and yes, she does know. I’d love for you to meet her one day. I know she’d love to meet you.”
My heart almost bursts at the seams. Hope beads on my skin like dew on spring grass.
He wants to see me again.
Introduce me to his family.
This journey has been a long time coming, but at this moment, I have no regrets.
I’m quick to remember he’s just mentioned the dreaded D-word.
“Divorced? I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be…” he lingers on his words, before continuing, “To burn with desire and live a life with someone else is the greatest punishment we can place upon ourselves.”
How true his words ring for me. I sense the pain which still lingers. I will never understand—he loved a woman who easily allowed a man to treat me like an outcast. I’ve witnessed only one side of Melinda Carmichael, and it’s far from beautiful.
But the heart wants what it wants.
“My mother is… she’s not the nicest of people.”
“I’m sorry to hear you feel that way. My memories of her are fond, but it was never meant to be.”