When Secrets Persevere

Part 1

Beginnings are always preceded by endings, and this story is no exception.

When the sudden news of her estranged father's death reached her doorstep, Roya's surprise quickly morphed into despair. All the what-if's that clouded her thoughts from the moment she learned that she must have a father, somewhere, shot to the front of her mind once again, and drowned out her mother's voice as she tried to reassure her that this new beginning will surely be rewarding. That flying across two states in the midst of her summer vacation to move into a house that once belonged to a father she never actually knew, might not be the worst way to spend her upcoming fifteenth birthday.

The ride from the airport to the town that will lead towards her father's house was as tormenting as Roya envisioned it to be, with her mother constantly trying to break the icy atmosphere by praising the townspeople and all the wonderful cafes and dessert shops they run. She said it would be the perfect summer vacation setting for a fifteen-year old, completely overlooking the fact that all this fifteen-year old wanted was to be in the familiar settings of the place she called home, with the few friends she called her family.

As Farrah drove the rental car straight down the roads of the town, the asphalt began to fade into sand and soon they were rocking sideways and grunting as the car struggled to turn its tires over sharp rocks. Although she hasn't been this close to this part of the world for nearly eleven years, Farrah could never forget the familiar roads. She did spend the better half of her late teens and early twenties passing down these exact roads and heading towards the same house that was currently twisting and turning her guts with a rollercoaster of emotions.

Roya remained quiet in the passenger seat, her curious eyes observing the abandoned roads, and her fingers lowered the volume of the angry songs blasting through her noise-cancelling headphones.

Eventually, a beige stone wall with iron gates half a dozen feet high came into view and scaled up as they continued towards it. When they were past the gates, Roya's eyes couldn't help but widen considerably. Straight up ahead at the end of the asphalt road was a white two-storey villa with floor-to-ceiling windows.

This is where her father lived?

All those years - eleven of them to be specific - while Farrah was scrubbing restaurant plates clean until her fingers had gone numb and pruny, and relocating from single-bedded motels to a studio apartment that had its kitchen sink in the bedroom, this man was living in a beautiful villa above cliffs that overlooked the Pacific.

Yet if Roya had asked her mother once again why she left her father, Farrah would repeat the same words she'd ingrained in her daughter's head for all her life.

"He just wasn't a good man. He wasn't right for us."

Switching off the grumbling ignition of their rental car, Farrah got out and waited for her daughter to follow in her steps. She tightened her grip on the house key her lawyer had handed her after he disclosed the contents of her husband's will.

He had left them everything, and for the life of her, Farrah couldn't understand why. Sure, they were still legally married, but they hadn't spoken in nine years. He hadn't seen or spoken to their daughter in eleven years. So no, she wasn't his wife, and Roya wasn't his daughter.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Roya's skepticism diverted Farrah's attention away from her angry thoughts. She turned to her, forcing the frown that creased her forehead away, and she offered her teenage daughter a reassuring smile.

"Yes. We're in the right place." No place you once considered home would be easily forgotten, she thought.

Forcing her legs forward, Farrah unlocked the double doors of her late husband's house with trembling fingers. The heavy wood was just as stubborn as she recalled, and she had to put extra effort in her shove.