The sun had just set behind the Melbourne skyline when my phone rang, piercing the silence I'd fought so hard to achieve. Ava, my six-year-old daughter, sat in the other room with Martha, her giggling with Martha's soothing voice as they read together. I looked down at the caller ID: Mom.

I sat and hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. Mom and I had never gotten along particularly well. In that moment, I could think of nothing but a long sequence of silences interrupted only by sharp words and unanswered questions. I answered anyway, at least out of habit.

"Alice," her voice was fragile as glass. Something was terribly wrong. 

"I. I need to tell you something.

I steeled myself, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next. "Your father is dead."

The words hung in the air, some kind of cruel joke that I didn't understand. My father? 

The man whose identity she had kept from me my whole life? The man who'd been a ghost, an idea, more than reality?

I'd been wondering for years who he was and why he'd never formed a part of my life, and my mother had always clammed up on any question about him, her eyes hard and her lips tighter than a drum. Now he was dead?

 "

"When?" My voice was a mere whisper, almost drowned out by the rushing of blood in my ears.

"Two days ago," she said. The tone was thick with something that might have been regret-or something else. "You need to come back, Alice. For the funeral."

It wasn't a request; it was an order. For one moment, I considered rebelling against her, hanging up the phone and pretending this conversation had never taken place. Then I thought of Ava, and the hole in my own life where a father should have been, and something inside me shifted.

"I'll come," I said, already knowing it wasn't for her sake that I agreed. "But not for you."

The flight was tense. Ava sat excitedly, her little face pressed against the window, watching the clouds go by, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. Martha sat beside her-a steady presence, always-but even she seemed to sense my unease.

"Don't you worry dear, It will be fine." Martha set her hand over my knee assuring me and I nodded looking at my little bundle of joy. 

When we landed in Chicago, I saw her before she saw me—my mother, Olivia, standing in the arrivals area. She looked smaller than I remembered, her shoulders stooped as if the weight of years had finally caught up to her.

But all sympathy I may have felt suddenly dried up the moment our eyes met: the years of silence and unanswered questions, to be finally called back when it was too late.

I passed by her in silence, my heart a cold, hard rock in my chest. Ava, however, tugged free from my hand and ran to her grandmother, wrapping her small arms around Olivia's waist. "I missed you, Grandma!" Her voice so innocent was full.

"Ohh My little Ava." Olivia's face softened, but once she looked up at me, the softness was gone.

She opened her mouth to say something just as a group of men in dark suits appeared before us.

"Ms. Alice? Daughter of Olivia Anderson?" One of them, the tallest among them, stepped forward, holding a briefcase in one hand. 

We are Mr. Michael Rodriguez's legal team. We must make sure his last wishes are carried to the letter.

My breath caught. Michael Rodriguez? The name reverberated in my head, although unfamiliar, it sure sounded serious. Was this. my dad?

I looked at my mother, and the watery eyes of hers confirmed it, yes. Michael Rodriguez is my father. 

"You need to come with us," the lawyer went on, his voice professional, yet firm.

"Why the hell, I will go with you. I have no business with him." I declined and leant to pick Ava up in my arms. The lawyer stood there adamant, confident. 

 "May be you not but he had pending business with you." His voice was urgent yet carefully calculated.

"There are things to discuss, things that you must be shown." Yet another lawyer in black suit initiated. I just want to close this chapter off of my life. 

Screams and shouts continued before I could reply to their addressing. My mom's face first turned pale, then she grasped my arm, her hold incredibly strong. "N público, Alice. No te vayas con ellos. Ven a casa con nosotros. We. we have to talk.

The fear in her voice was new, something I'd never heard before. It was scaring me more than the sudden appearance of the lawyers. But there was this strange compulsion which propelled me forward-a need to understand this man, who had been no more than a mystery my whole life.

I looked at Martha. "Take Ava and my mother home," I instructed, trying to sound steady. "I'll meet you there later."

"Mommy will come back soon, baby." I held Ava's hand and looked at her. 

"Ok Mommy. I will wait for you" Ava giggled in Martha's hands clutching her teddy.

"Alice, please." My mother's voice was shaking, but I shrugged off her hand and followed the lawyers. This was something I needed to do alone.

Driving through the city, the walls of my life felt like closing in-the reality of my father's death abruptly too huge to avoid. The car ride was silent; I couldn't bring myself to ask the questions burning inside me.

Finally, the car pulled up in front of a grand mansion—a place that looked like it belonged in some movie, not in the reality I knew. The lawyer beside me noticed my stare. "This was your father's home," he said quietly.

My heart pounded in my chest. This. this was my father's legacy? This mansion, this wealth? What did that make me?

As we stepped out, I saw a phalanx of people standing near the entrance—three women, their countenances unyielding and cold. The lawyer cleared his throat. "This is Michael's legal family," he said, gesturing to them. "His wife, Sara, and their daughters, Briana and Celeste."

Sharp eyes, full of hostility sent a shiver down my spine. They regarded me as though I was an interloper, as though I was an unwanted guest at a party. My mother's voice echoed in my head, the warning, the fear. but it was far too late now to turn back.

Before I could utter a word, the doors of the mansion creaked open, showing the inside packed with people clothed in black. All they had on their faces were so gloomy as they paid their respects to the man lying in the huge casket at the room's center.

My feet moved of their own accord then, taking me across the room towards him. My father. I looked down upon the body of the man I had never met, that I dreamed about, cried over, raged against. And now all I would ever have were questions that would never be answered.

Sara's voice cut through the thick silence. "So you're the one," she hissed, the words dripping with poison. "The bastard who thinks she has any right to be here."

Briana chimed in, her voice as cold. "You should leave. This isn't your place.

My heart was racing as I stared at the two women; cuts from their words were going deep into me. But before I could react, the lawyer stepped forward, his face resolute. "This isn't the time," he said firmly. "Tomorrow, we will read Michael's will. Until then, let's keep the peace."

Peace was far from my thoughts as I stood there, staring down at the man who was supposed to be my father, the man whose secrets I was only beginning to uncover.

Just as I began to turn away, more lost than ever, a familiar voice called my name. "Alice?" It was Sophia, my best friend since childhood. She hadn't changed much-eyes still bright, smile still the same as I remembered.

"Alice," she whispered soft and amazed-sounding, and I breathed in return the first real sense of warmth that day.

She enveloped me in a warm hug almost before I could think, and for that one moment, the moving chaos around me seemed to fall back.

"I came to pick you up at Airport but saw these people leading you to the car and then followed here" Her embarrassed voice toned down as he pulled her dress.

"Why are you here? Why sudden return?" She wisphered lowly acting as if she said nothing.

"He is my father" Sophia chocked air coughing hard.

"Michael Rodrigoze???" Her face went white as shock. I nodded still looking at the men in casket. 

"Come home with me," she pressed, looking around the people nervously then I realized people were staring at me with curious stares like I shouldn't be here.

Anger was in Sara and Briana, but their furious red face was content and controlled in front of people, while every second yelling at me for my presence here.

I nodded, taking her cue, and followed her out of the mansion, but we had just reached the driveway when a sleek black car pulled up, and a man stepped out-tall, with sharp features and a commanding presence. He looked directly into my eyes, cold.

Sophia tensed beside me. "Alice, that's William," she whispered. "He's dangerous."

As William drew closer, his eyes didn't once leave mine. "We need to talk," he said, his tone smooth but underlined with a dark intent.