Chapter 20
Athena
“In the quiet unraveling of past shadows, we find the strength to step into the light of our true selves.”
—Eloisa Hobby
The door clicked closed behind the eccentric senior citizen, leaving Athena staring out at the effervescent group dancing in the backyard to the sounds of their own music. They seemed so joyous.
A deep longing seeped into her bones. She was not the melancholy sort, that mood belonged to Calista, but the bittersweet moment was too strong to ignore. Dispirited, she sank back down on the love seat and reached for the scrapbook, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been.
Demetra’s scrapbook.
The woman who had been little more than a ghost in her life, a name whispered in hushed tones when her father was out of earshot. A maelstrom of emotions swirled within Athena—curiosity, anger, fear, and a longing she buried so deep she almost forgot it existed.
The musty scent of old paper wafted up, carrying with it the weight of history. She shifted through it again, heart clutching as she took in the newspaper clippings, photos, mementos of her career achievements preserved on each page.
She saw a little girl, swinging a golf club in the backyard until her hands were raw and blistered. The memory, long buried under years of pressure and expectation, surfaced with startling clarity.
Athena could almost feel the weight of the club in her hands, the ache in her muscles as she practiced swing after swing, determined to live up to her father’s vision of her.
Her father’s stern face appeared in her mind’s eye, watching her from the patio.
She remembered the mixture of fear and grit that drove her, the desperate need to keep him from looking at her the way he looked at Calista. With disgust and disdain.
The taste of salty tears in her mouth, Athena picked up the envelope, broke the red wax seal in the shape of a heart, and read the letter inside penned in her mother’s handwriting.
Her gaze moved across the page, drinking in every word as if they were water droplets in a desert. Her mother’s voice, one she had longed to hear for years, whispered from the pages.
Delving deeper into the letter, Athena felt the world around her fade away. The half-packed suitcase, the seahorse-decorated room receded into the background as her mother’s words painted vivid pictures of a past she barely recalled.
Dearest Athena,
It’s raining today. The soft patter against the window reminds me of that April morning when you were five.
You’d just lost your first tooth and were convinced the tooth fairy wouldn’t find our house because of the storm.
We sat on the porch swing, counting raindrops and lightning flashes, your small hand in mine.
I wish so badly I could go back to that moment. There’s so much I need to tell you, but words feel inadequate. How do I explain years of absence in a single letter?
You were always quietly stubborn. Remember when you decided to learn French because you overheard your father say it was a beautiful language?
You spent that entire summer with your nose in textbooks, emerging triumphant in August with a flawless “Bonjour, Papa. Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui?
” The stunned look on his face—I’ll never forget it.
I saw that same determination when you picked up your first golf club.
Hours in the backyard, day after day, until your swing was perfect.
I’d watch from the kitchen, hands deep in dishwater, marveling at your focus.
You were so small then, all knobby knees and untamed curls, but there was a fierceness in you that both thrilled and terrified me.
Your father noticed too. “She’s got the eye,” he’d say. “Like me.” But there was something else there, too—his expectations. Demands.
I should have said something then. Should have told you that you were already enough, golf skills or not. But because I was afraid of him, I stayed silent, and that silence grew between us like a wall.
Athena, being separated from you and Calista was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through.
Your father . . . well, it’s complicated.
He wasn’t always the man you knew. When we met, he was charming, ambitious, full of dreams. But success changed him, or maybe it just revealed who he truly was all along.
The first time he hit me, you were at school. I told myself it was a mistake, that I should have watched my mouth, that it wouldn’t happen again. I was wrong.
It got worse. I tried to hide it from you girls, but kids always know more than we think. Remember that night you crawled into my bed, your little arms wrapping around me? “It’s okay, Mamá,” you whispered. “I’ll protect you.” You were nine.
I need you to understand—I never wanted to leave you and Calista.
That day I packed our bags I thought we were starting a new life together.
I thought I was protecting you both. I didn’t count on your father’s influence, his ruthlessness.
Depression had been my unwelcome companion for years, a shadow I tried to hide from you girls.
But Benjamin knew. He used it against me, twisted it into a weapon in the courtroom.
“Unfit mother,” they declared. Two words that shattered my world forever.
I fought for you, Athena. With everything I had.
But your father’s money spoke louder than my love.
In the end, all I could do was watch as he drove away with you and Calista in that limo.
You were looking back at me, confusion and fear in your eyes.
That image haunts me still. I’ve spent every day since then trying to get back to you, to explain.
Your father’s restraining orders, his legal threats, they’ve kept me at arm’s length, but they never stopped me from loving you.
He told me if I contacted you, he’d ruin your future and cut you off financially.
I couldn’t risk it, Athena. Not even when you were grown.
Not when it meant jeopardizing the life you were building.
From afar I watched you, collecting pieces of your life. Every golf tournament win, every achievement. I’m so proud of you, Athena. Not because of your trophies or your grades, but because of who you are.
A strong, competent woman.
I know things with Calista are strained. You two were always oil and water, but there’s a bond there, deeper than you might realize. She needs you, Athena. And I think you might need her too.
You are my brave, beautiful girl. I know the strength that runs in your veins. Trust that strength. Trust yourself.
It’s okay to change direction. It’s okay to choose a path that’s uniquely yours, even if it’s not what your father—or anyone else—expects.
You are loved, Athena. Completely and without conditions. Whatever you decide, wherever you go, hold on to that truth.
With my undying love, Mamá
Athena’s tears fell freely now, dotting the paper, smearing the ink.
All these years, she had harbored a quiet resentment toward her mother for not trying to get them back.
The realization that her mother had been watching from afar—collecting these mementos, following her journey—shook Athena to her core.
Her mind spun with her endless pursuit of perfection, the missed opportunities for fun and friendship, the longing looks at a casual world she felt she couldn’t be part of—it was all there, laid bare in her mother’s words.
She put a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
How had her mother seen so clearly what Athena herself had barely acknowledged?
The constant pressure, the fear of disappointing her father, the relentless drive for perfection—it had all come at a cost she was only now beginning to understand.
She had spent so long trying to be perfect, to meet her father’s impossibly high standards, that she had lost sight of who she truly was.
The idea that she could be enough, just as she was, seemed revolutionary.
For several long moments, Athena sat in silence, the letter clutched to her chest. Tears streamed down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. The perfect, composed facade she had maintained for so long cracked and fell away, leaving her raw and vulnerable.
She looked up, her gaze falling on the open suitcase.
For the first time, she allowed herself to really feel the pain of her mother’s absence, the weight of her father’s expectations, the love for her sister she had never fully expressed.
With shaky hands, she picked up the scrapbook and flipped again through the pages.
Each clipping, each photo, each memento was a piece of the puzzle of her life viewed through her mother’s loving eyes.
Studying the carefully preserved memories, Athena felt a shift within herself.
The need for perfection, the fear of failure that drove her for so long, loosened their grip.
In their place, a new resolve formed, a determination not to be perfect, but to be authentic.
Athena took a deep breath, feeling as if she was truly filling her lungs for the first time in years, left her room, and walked out the front door to speak with Cantu.