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‘Maybe if I tell you more about your father and why he did those things to you, it might help explain a lot.’
Harlow recoiled. ‘I don’t want to hear his name or his reasons for being cruel.’
‘Please,’ Zipporah begged, reaching out to touch her daughter.
Harlow closed her eyes, fighting off the familiar anger and bitterness. Eventually, logic won the day. This was her year of transformation and healing. If this wasn’t a chance to make steps towards that promise, she didn’t know what was.
‘Fine,’ she conceded with a sigh, opening her eyes.
Zipporah gave her a half smile. ‘Thank you. You know that your father was a general of Alloria. Some say he was ruthless, cared only about power and success, and stopped at nothing to achieve his goals. I loved him and saw the other side - that he was a brilliant strategist, respected by his troops. But he had no qualms about making the hard calls if it meant victory. He was a man who was driven by ambition, and he would do anything to climb the ranks and advance his career. He was determined to become the most powerful general in all of Alloria and would stop at nothing to achieve his goal. But his ambition came at a price. He was hated and feared by his enemies and shunned and despised by his men. He increasingly became the victim of rumours and lies. People called him horrible names and claimed he lived only for victory and conquest.’
Harlow listened, but she could feel the anger and hurt burning away inside her. It sounded like Zipporah was excusing her sperm donor yet again. It was his greed, thirst and urge to control others that had consumed him and destroyed his reputation.
‘In the end, his enemies brought him down,’ the older woman continued. ‘They pinned false charges on him for accounts of cruelty during the Allorian Conquest War. He was charged with senseless atrocities that he did not commit. His reputation was slandered, and his legacy was left in tatters. He fled to Dunia disguised as a refugee. All he could do was turn himself into a cleric to avoid detection from the Allorian justice system that a trying war criminals.’
‘So he ran away from justice.’
Zipporah’s eyes flared with an unhinged rage. ‘You know nothing. You were just a baby when this all happened. All I wanted to do was put this straight with you so you can understand what drove him.’
‘I understand. More than you ever know. He was a psychopath in the army and a sociopath at home.’
That’s when she saw Zipporah’s eyes blaze out of control. ‘I didn’t sacrifice my last savings to come here for you to insult your father!’
‘Why are you so invested in making him sound like a normal man?’
‘Because he was.’
Harlow scoffed. ‘He was a tyrant. Now and then. He abused me and abused you too. You’ll never change my mind on that.’
Zipporah sat back in her chair, her eyes angry. ‘How can you call him an abuser? He was my husband. And your father.’
‘You keep saying ‘was’. Why?’
‘He’s dead.’
It took all of Harlow’s self-control not to break out into peals of wild laughter.
‘Ding dong, the troll is dead,’ she said, barely masking a smile.
‘How dare you?’ Zipporah cried out.
‘I dare. He’s been dead to me for years now,’ Harlow snarked back.
The older woman was now shaking with charged anger. ‘You’re exactly what he said you were — a spoilt, overweight, rotten brat. We tried to beat the evil from you. Yet you persisted in defying us over and over again.’
Harlow felt her heart churn, but the tools she’d worked on with her therapist came to the rescue. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, worked through a self-restraint therapy exercise in her mind and quickly found peace.
‘What do you want, Zipporah?’ Harlow said resignedly, opening her eyes reluctantly.
‘I need you to look after me.’
Harlow jolted in her seat. ‘Look after you?’
‘Yes. I’ve been struggling for a long time since your father died.’
Harlow was speechless. She sat back in her chair, shaking her head in disbelief.
She found her voice after a beat. ‘You call me a spoilt, overweight, rotten brat. You confirm that you abused me. Yet you now want me to turn around and have me care for you. Oh, the entitlement, woman! I’m not taking care of you. You never took care of me.’
