Her words slice away at me, making my breathing difficult. She looks at me with a pinched expression, and I’ve seen that kind of gaze enough times in my father’s eyes to label it as disgust. It hurts far more this time, knowing it’s from Zahra.
She walks around me to grab her belongings. “I’m quitting because I have no interest in working for you or your company anymore. I want to work for a place that wants to make a real difference in people’s lives because they care, and your company isn’t it.”
She exits the room, leaving me with nothing but the lingering smell of her perfume and the memory of her teary eyes looking at me with nothing but hate.
48
Rowan
I should go home after landing in Chicago, but I tell my driver to take me to my father’s place. After everything that happened after Zahra’s presentation, I’ve had something bugging me. It took me an entire flight to realize I have unfinished business to settle before I can finally move on.
The pressure I’ve placed on my own shoulders to live up to some unattainable goal of proving my father wrong has poisoned enough of my life. I wanted him to recognize my worth for years when he couldn’t even see past his own misery. And now I’m done. I’m letting go of that boy who wanted to be seen by the entirely wrong person.
I press the doorbell with one gloved finger. It takes my father a few minutes to open the door to his townhouse on the edge of the city.
His eyes widen behind his glasses. “Rowan. Come on in.” He opens the door.
I take a moment to assess him. His eyes seem clear and sober, and his breath lacks the distinct smell of whiskey that I’ve grown to pair with his drunken outbursts.
I guess he’s sober enough to get through this conversation.
I hold up my hand. “That’s not necessary. I have a couple of questions to ask you.”
His brows knit together, but he nods anyway. “Okay.”
“Do you think Mom would be proud of the man you’ve become since she died?”
My father’s mouth drops open. I don’t think I’ve seen him look surprised like this before. The color leaches out of his already pale face, making him look ghostly.
A heavy gust of wind blows toward us, snapping him out of whatever thoughts he had.
“No. I don’t.” His head bows.
“Why did you change?”
“Because I was an angry, pathetic man who wanted to drown everyone in my grief so they could feel hurt like I hurt.”
I blink at him, caught completely off guard by his candid answer. Out of all the responses I considered, the words he spoke never even made it on the list.
He sighs as if this conversation is draining him of all his energy. “Any other questions?”
“Do you regret falling in love with my mother?”
“Not at all.”
I could have sworn he would say yes. How could he not after all the pain he clearly went through? “Why not?”
“You’ll learn that the best rewards come with the biggest consequences. Because nothing that great is given for free.” He shuts his eyes.
If a man like him would do it all over again, that’s all I needed to hear. Because if he would relive decades of grief knowing it would result in the same outcome, then there’s something about love that must be worth the pain.
I made a huge mistake based on a complete lie I told myself year after year. I spent my entire life thinking love makes people powerless, and it does. My father is living proof of that. Love does make people helpless, but only because they willingly accept it. Because to love someone else means to trust them enough to not abuse the power they have over you.