Imogen
I pad on my tiptoes to the door as the incessant knocking continues.
The rain batters the roof, branches cracking against the windows from the wind’s fury. Whoever is outside is manning a storm to be here. My thumping heart tells me to ignore them, wait for them to leave, then jump in the car and speed off.
The knocking becomes louder, more determined.
I can’t see who it is without going outside, as the porch view is obstructed.
It might be the police…
Screw it.
I twist the lock out of place, grab the handle, and yank it open.
Standing on the porch… is Harrison, soaked through. His coat hangs off his frame, wet, water sliding off his lashes as he looks at me.
My first reflex is fear. Hours ago, I broke into his house. I trespassed, snooped, rifled through his private life like a burglar.
But a confusing wave of repose washes over me as I remember who he really is. Not a creeping neighbor, not a killer.
My father.
Before either of us says a word, I lose myself in a newfound sea of tears.
“What are you doing here?” I shout over the crashing weather.
The patio awning offers a pathetic respite from the rain, as droplets still find a way of reaching his body, pelting his long black coat.
I don’t ask him in, not yet.
“Do you know who I am?” he calmly shouts.
My chest heaves like I’ve just run a marathon. My tears warm my cheeks in the biting cold.
“Emmett called me,” he continues. “He told me you know. I… I drove straight here from my office.”
How noble. A man who only acts when his truth is exposed. When he’s cornered.
I roll my eyes, blink the tears away, hugging my chest as wind rolls into the door like it’s a tunnel.
Harrison seems lost for words. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly as he squints, looking around as though the answer is written in the air somewhere. “I’ve driven here four times this past week. Each time, I haven’t made it far enough to knock.”
I let him squirm, let him continue searching for the right words—the words he should have uttered a lifetime ago.
He presses on. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to talk to you. Even though all I’ve wanted to do—for years—is talk to you. And your sister.” His voice is shaking, teeth chattering. “My name is Harrison… I’m your dad.”
My weeping has steadied, turning into a left eye twitch and a mouth quiver. “Come in.”
I close the door behind him, in disbelief that he’s shown up like this. I face him in the entryway, uninterested in settling in with him.
“My mother died three weeks ago,” I say angrily, crossing my arms. “I had to find out who you were by accident, while boxing up her life.” My voice cracks.
“You’ve lived right there”—I stab a finger at the window, at the vague silhouette of his black house through the haze—“for decades. You knew us. You knew her. Yet you didn’t try to be a real partner. A real man. A real dad.”
He stands there, shame crossing him like it did Emmett.
“And yet,” I continue. “You were close to Madison Tory. Right? Some girl barely older than us. You could give her your attention, your guidance. But you couldn’t give it to your actual daughters?”
He presses his lips together, drenched hair dripping on his collar. “Your mother didn’t want me in your lives. And I…” His voice falters, ignoring my point. “I was afraid. I was selfish, and I was terrified I’d ruin you. I didn’t know how to be a father. I didn’t know if I wanted to be one.”
I laugh. A sharp, disbelieving sound. “Maybe you should have thought about that before getting with my mother. Just like you should have thought about moving. Because how did you think that carrying on with your life—right in front of us—was better than trying?”
I may know his name, his place of employment, his home address, but I do not know this man. Sharing his DNA doesn’t make him my family. It doesn’t create an automatic bond, like he may wish.
“I left because I was… an idiot. I thought I’d come back when I was ready.
I was young—I didn’t know what I was doing.
I was worried it was going to affect my life and freedom and career.
But by the time I looked up… you weren’t little girls anymore.
” His voice lowers, broken. “Then it felt too late.”
My eyes widen, shocked he said any of that aloud.
“That came out wrong,” he defends. “I… felt this unbearable pressure and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I left. I can’t take it back… but I’m open to changing that now.”
I scoff. “You’re open to it?”
“I’m saying all the wrong things.” He shakes his head, somewhat sincerely. “But I want to fix this. I do.”
He speaks like his motive is supposed to resonate somewhere deep in the hollow space where my mother’s love used to be.
But all I hear is a voice I never knew, offering nothing I need.
The truth hits me hard: I don’t need him.
I don’t need a father to fill the chasm my mother left behind.
Her absence is mine to carry, not to refill with a relationship with the person who was never there in the first place.
Yet… for a split second, the words tempt me.
Not because they’re good enough, but because they’re hitting a soft spot that still aches like a child.
I’m being forced to choose between living the rest of my life parentless or inviting a stranger to call himself my father. A stranger who had the luxury of choosing distance, while Mom had no option but to stay and love us.
I can’t reward abandonment because he’s suddenly decided to regret it.
Albeit, halfheartedly.
“For all these years, I’ve wondered who you were.” I sniff, watching water drip off his pant leg, onto the floor. “And I will admit, I thought knowing who you were would help take away some of the pain of losing her.”
“I’m not trying to replace Alice,” Harrison says quickly. “But I’m here, if you’ll have me.”
Now that Alice is dead—I need to figure out what to do with her girls. They’re back in town, he’d texted Emmett.
So unceremonious. So… burdened. Like we were just a conquest of his conscience.
“I don’t need someone to step in and fix everything.
You had years to do this. I can’t just put a Band-Aid over it because you’re asking me to.
Or hoping I will.” I let out a deep breath.
“I appreciate you coming over here. But it’s just not a good time.
My sister deserves to be here for this if she wants to be.
Right now… we are grieving an unimaginable loss. ”
He nods in defeat, his voice calm. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. For everything.”
I run my knuckles against the droplets on my chin. “I’ll think about it.”
My voice is small, almost lost. But it is final.
I open the front door, rain snarling against the porch as Harrison steps back into the storm. He gives me one last fleeting smile—thin, sorrowful. Then he’s gone, swallowed by the gloom as his car door thuds shut and the gravel crunches under his tires.
I was hoping Amelia would materialize while he was still here. But I don’t see her car. I check her location again as he disappears down the drive, her bubble glowing one house away, unmoving. She’s probably driving past Harrison right now, wondering what the hell he was doing at our house.
I putter around, checking my progress, pulling a jacket on when five minutes pass.
Each moment brings the expectation of Amelia walking through the door.
I check my phone again, wondering if she turned around.
But the expanding green glow around her contact photo proves that the displayed location is live—and it’s in the same place it was the last time I checked.
I bundle my jacket close to my chest and open the front door, choosing not to lock it. She should be right outside.
I jog down the driveway to find her.