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“Yes. In the letter, Francis explained that he visited here as part of a wine convention. I believe he felt the place had a rustic enough feel that coupling the wine with the town made it easier to sell. Fine wine in a small town is quite romantic, so I’m told.”
“Well, this is one place flooded with romance,” I muttered. When Matt frowned slightly, I moved to pour myself another glass. “I’m sorry. This place takes romance very seriously. I don’t know if you saw the plaque on your way in, but this town was founded by star-crossed lovers a billion years ago, so the mayor makes sure to honor that every year.”
“Ah,” Matt chuckled. “That explains the Valentine’s balloons I saw on my way in when it’s only January.”
“Exactly.” I tipped my glass slightly toward him in agreement.
“Well, Francis provided a lot of information about the affair he had with Amy, including the fact that she fell pregnant, and a girl was born. His daughter.”
Draining that second glass did nothing to calm the rising, anxious itch inside my very soul. A restlessness swept down my limbs, and even as I retook my seat on the stool, I couldn’t stop how my knee repeatedly bounced as Matt continued.
“The pregnancy scared him, and in an effort to reconcile with his wife, he needed to forget the affair and everything that resulted. Francis and Amy came to an agreement; he would provide for Amy and her daughter in whichever way Amy deemed fit, and in return, he would be able to go back to his life without the threat of Amy tracking him down. I believe Amy, your mother, was heartbroken and angry enough to accept these terms and wanted nothing to do with Francis.”
Understandable.
“The letter goes on to express deep regret for the affair and the pain it causes his family to learn such a thing, but he more deeply regretted abandoning Amy and his daughter to fend for themselves. It was a mistake he planned to correct but wrote the letter just in case things didn’t pan out the way he wanted.”
The silence after Matt stopped talking was deafening.
There was no way this was true. No fucking way. Francis Ashbluff was my father? No way.
I had tried to get information out of my mother about the identity of my father a few times over the years, but each time, I was swayed by the assurance that he wasn’t important and barely worth mentioning. Those questions cropped up a lot more when my mother fell sick, but she died before any concrete answers could be given, so I accepted that I was an orphan and moved on.
“This has to be a joke,” I murmured.
Matt smiled warmly and slid the second sheet of paper closer to me. “Your name is Scarlett Mary Parker, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And when were you born?”
“Uh… May 27th, 1998.” No alcohol was strong enough to calm the confusion raging in my chest. My knee continued to bounce.
“It matches,” Matt said firmly. “Do you know this woman?” Matt slid forward a Polaroid photograph of a man and a woman, and all air rushed from my lungs in a gasp.
With trembling fingers, I picked up the picture and managed to set the empty wine glass down before losing my grip. A pair of smiling green eyes surrounded by a nest of thick brown hair stared up at me and a soft whimper slipped past my lips.
It was my mother. Before she was sick, before she had become pregnant, it was like looking in the mirror with how similar we looked, and a shard of pain lanced through my heart.
“I…,” I began hoarsely, swallowing hard around a growing lump. “It’s my mother. I’ve never seen a picture of her this old before. She always hated being in front of the camera so I’d have to sneak pictures when I could.” A sudden influx of fresh, warm tears flooded my eyes and I sniffled sharply. “Oh god, I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Francis included this picture along with the letter. That’s him next to your mother.”
“They look… happy.” It was difficult to believe that he had vanished from both our lives with no care as to what happened to either. “My mother died. Just before I turned eighteen.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, and the news I brought with me today,” Matt said, his voice slightly softer.
“Why are you…” I lifted my gaze and quickly wiped away some of my tears. “Why are you here telling me all of this? What’s the point of it all?”
The childhood fantasy of my father turning up one day had never truly faded from my mind. It had always lingered, no matter how I tried to ignore it. Dreams that he was a government agent forcibly kept from his family or a soldier captured overseas desperate to return; all excuses that would make his absence understandable.
Reality was much harsher.
“The Ashbluff estate tasked me with tracking you and your mother down, as Francis’ letter also included your inclusion in his Will.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have to inform you that you have been requested to attend a small hearing concerning the inheritance split with the rest of the family. You are Francis’ daughter, so you are entitled to half of his Estate.”
