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I don't know how much time passes until I calm down, but my father can hold me in his protective arms for as long as I need. I feel like a kid again, when neither of us allowed our relationship to cool down, but the closeness between us is overshadowed by the reality that brings me to my senses.
Nothing is the same anymore.
“Let me look at you,” my father takes a moment to admire me, with red, moist eyes. “You've matured so beautifully over these years, I can hardly believe it,” he shakes his head, and I can see the regret in his eyes.
I wear one of my oversized hoodies, and some jeans, after begging Peter to let me into the London apartment. Fortunately, our things are still there. According to Tita's information, the landlord has passed away, and it's uncertain who will have the property. Just in case, I asked her to help me with whatever remains in the apartment and pack them into boxes in case I can't renew the lease with the money I have to collect from my former workplace.
After having a panic attack and almost cutting my hair short, considering returning to being a brunette with the idea of taking advantage of the situation and disappearing again, I realized that I can't run anymore, and I have to stay put. So, I tied my hair into a low ponytail, put the hood over my head, broke my piggy bank, and bought a train ticket to Matlock.
As per Peter's information, Manasseh was forced to go to his father in Romania after being released on bail. I admit I'm afraid of the consequences of my revenge and what will happen when Manasseh returns. I don't even want to imagine how Dan Morgenstern will react when he finds out that his perfect son was arrested because of a woman. I'm sure that nothing could be worse for Manasseh than having this news reach his father. To embarrass himself for a woman, get arrested, and even show in the media, it would all tarnish their reputation and cause a scandal.
I felt a pit in my stomach when I read today's news. The press moved swiftly and a photo of Manasseh in handcuffs was prominently featured on the front page of a fairly popular newspaper. He's quite well-known, with several appearances in the rankings of the most successful young entrepreneurs or in the sports pages, as mentioned in the scandalous article. These are just two of the things of interest about the public figure that is Manasseh Morgenstern, the son of the respected sommelier Dan Morgenstern, famous for the luxurious brand that bears his name.
Morgenstern Wines is among the most beloved wines in the British market, with an intentional opening market from seven years ago when Dan Morgenstern transformed from a passionate sommelier into a creator of his own dream to own one of the most successful brands in the Bacchus liquor industry.
My heart skipped a beat when I recognized myself in the tabloid photo. Luckily for me, I was only caught from the profile or from behind. If Dan doesn't buy the press and manages to silence them, the paparazzi will surely be more intrigued by the “unknown woman in a robe accompanying him,” and it's only a matter of time before they assume we're having an affair, and my identity will be revealed. The scandal tabloids will go wild when, after some digging, they discover that I'm a preacher's daughter and that we were neighbors for a long time.
I will end up living a nightmare and be forced to hide if they find out, so I pray to the saints that Dan will bribe the press and just bury the subject.
Now that I've realized the predicament I've put him in, I'm even more afraid of Manasseh's return to the country. But for now, I choose to live in hope that Dan will forbid him from coming near me, and I'll take advantage of his absence.
“You've changed,” I say when I take a closer look at my father.
There is nothing left of the man my mother once likened to Alain Delon. Now, his handsome features are hidden beneath an unkempt beard. Dark circles under his eyes darken his gaze, even though no one can take away the gentleness in his eyes. I can't say the same about the color in his cheeks, or the fact that he's considerably thinner. The once-impeccable cassock that my mother used to lovingly iron every morning is now just a memory, much like him.
Before me stands the memory of the man my mother loved and served with devotion for so many years, the father who used to make everything fun back in the day. All that remains of him is the ghost of a dedicated priest, the only thing that has stubbornly clung to him, waking him up every morning in all these ruthless years.
I feel my chest tighten, and it makes me cry again. My father's hand settles on my back. It's warm and gently strokes me.
“Life changes us. I'm just following the laws of nature,” his candid smile crushes my soul even more, and I can't stop my tears. “I'm getting older, and there's nothing I can do about it except to resign myself and live out the rest of my days hoping that everyone I've wronged will forgive me, just as I pray to the Merciful Lord every day. That's why I'm asking you for forgiveness, Rebecca, because I never had the chance with your mother,” my father rubs his red, wet eyes.
“I forgive you, Dad,” I gently squeeze his hands in mine. “But you have to forgive me too, because I can't forget what you did.”
“God forgives us all in the end,” my father nods understandingly and wipes the tears off his cheeks.
“I'm sure Mom forgave you a long time ago because she never stopped loving you, even if you couldn't do the same,” I release his hands, disappointed, and the uncomfortable sensation returns. “I want you to know that I tried to understand you, but in this world, shouldn't love for your children be above all else? You've told me my whole life that God works through love, and you listened to Him and offered comfort to all these strangers. What I can't understand is why there was never any of your love left for me?”
“Don't believe that, Rebecca! I carry you in my heart every day. Both you and your mother. You're the most important people in my life.”
“But not more important than your faith,” my voice has a touch of disgust that wounds my father. “What's the point of all that faith when you spend your life alone? Doesn't this loneliness, that we’ve lost you in, scare you?”
“I realized it too late... and if I could start over, I would never leave your side,” my father's voice quivers.
“Really? Even after what I've done?” I ask.
“I've forgiven you, Rebecca.”
“I haven't!” My raised voice echoes within the cold walls of the church. “I can't forgive you for not choosing me, for not choosing us, your family, and for selfishly donning the cloak of faith just because you couldn't forgive yourself. You've condemned yourself to loneliness, and you were capable of forgiving me in the hope that it would help you forgive yourself. But all you've done is punish yourself even harder when the thought that your only child is following in your footsteps,” I burst out, feeling like I can't see clearly through so many painful tears.
“I'm sorry,” my father's voice is sincere but tired.
This time, I hug him tightly.
“Forgive yourself, Dad! Forgive yourself, so you can be forgiven in turn!” I utter something he had taught me in my childhood, albeit with a choked voice.
We cry together in front of God, and a warmth fills my chest and enlightens my mind. I never thought anyone could make my soul bleed until I heard my father's sobbing.
No child, no matter how good or bad, should ever make their parents cry, except for tears of joy.
