Heat rushes into my cheeks as my hand slowly reaches for Martha’s. The question sitting on my tongue feels humiliating before I can even say it out loud.
“Can I stay with you for a few days?” I whisper.
“Oh, sweetie.” Her voice softens. She looks at me, then at William. “That won’t be appropriate.”
“Appropriate?”
“Your father owed a lot of money, and people are saying he gambled everything away,” she says carefully. “Some even say someone paid to chase the car that night to teach him a lesson. We can’t be associated with that.”
Associated?
“The bank took the house for the debt he owed, but there is more to it,” William adds. “We paid for the funeral to show our respect because your parents were our friends. And we covered your hospital bills. But we are leaving for England in a week, and we can’t do anything more.”
He pauses.
“Your parents had financial problems for a long time.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
All I can hear now is the ticking of a clock behind them.
Tick- tock, tick and the fucking tock.
The sound pulls me back to the night of the accident.
William and Martha organized a gala every year on January 11th. This year was no different—except their spotlight was stolen when Daniel finally announced to everyone that we were getting married. I say finally because we had been engaged for months before he told anyone.
I had sat stiffly in my chair at a round table surrounded by faces I didn’t know. In front of me were crystal glasses, polished silverware, and behind me, the quiet hum of conversations. But my eyes stayed on my father and Daniel standing across the room.
They talked. About business, I think. Something about importing from England to the US. Something about keeping it quiet because William Grant didn’t want his only son to work with my father.
I couldn’t hear them, but I read every word on their lips.
The rest of the room faded, and everything blurred until there was only Daniel.
He looked at me and smiled. So proud.
I smiled back. The night was good for us.
My parents were happy that I was marrying Daniel Grant, and all I wanted was to make them happy.
People were watching us; whispers passed between the tables. Normally I never cared about what people thought about me. But they loved it. They adored every bit of attention they got.
Daniel was born into it. My father wanted to be part of it.
So, he approved. Daniel Grant was finally good enough for his daughter.
Just as I blink twice, the memory fades.
I’m back in the room, staring at Martha and William Grant.
All I can think of is the question.If my father had known who Daniel really was, would he still have approved? Or would Daniel’s money have been enough?
I move my gaze to Martha. “Did Daniel know?”
“He knew enough.” William answers.
I swallow before speaking again.
