Making my way to the front door, I brace myself, ready to unleash on whoever waits on the other side. As soon as I swing the door open, my eyes immediately fall on the teenage girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, standing on my front porch. An unfamiliar car sits in the driveway, and I catch sight of an older woman seated behind the wheel.
When I look back at the girl, she meets my gaze with a nervous expression, her hands fidgeting at her sides, clenching and unclenching as if caught between fear and hesitation.
“Hello,” I say gently, careful not to frighten her further, “can I help you?”
“Um… I… um…” she stammers, clearing her throat. “I… um… does a Zac Turner live here?”
I frown. “No, he doesn’t live here anymore. And he goes by the name Grant now—Zac Grant. May I ask why you’re looking for him?”
She swallows, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally speaks. “I… I know this is completely out of the blue, but I believe he’s my brother—well, my half-brother. My father was Adrian Turner. He passed away fifteen years ago in a car accident, along with my mother. I was told he left behind a son named Zac, and I’ve been trying to find him for the past two years.”
A sudden knot twists in my stomach as I take in the girl standing before me. When I get a closer look at her, I see it—the same unmistakable gaze I remember in her late father’s eyes, in Zac’s. And in that instant, the realisation strikes me like a thunderclap.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask softly, a lump rising in my throat.
“My name is Arianna—Arianna Cardillo.”
The gasp that escapes my mouth sounds as though someone has knocked the air clean from my lungs. Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling in this exact moment. A storm of emotion crashes through me as the truth settles in—the baby girl I left behind all those years ago is now standing right in front of me.
It’s been seventeen years since I last saw her. She was so precious and small then, fragile enough to fit against my chest.And now—now she’s here, standing on my front door, the baby girl who has grown into a beautiful, healthy young woman. Her features bearthe unmistakable resemblance of both her parents, but more than that—I see Zac so clearly in her too.
There is no denying it. No mistaking it.
They are bound by blood.
“Arianna? Lucia’s daughter?”
She nods slowly. “Did you know her?”
“Yes, I did,” I say quietly. “A very long time ago. She was a friend… once.”
And that’s all I’ll say about that, careful not to divulge on the details of our flawed relationship. I don’t know what she’s been told about her mother—what narrative her family constructed to protect her from the truth, and I refuse to be the one to shatter it. Some histories are better left buried, their bones undisturbed, especially if they only bring nothing but pain and resentment.
“I’m truly sorry about your parents,” I say gently, sincerity resonating in every word.
I may not have been their biggest fan, but no one deserved a fate that cruel.
I still remember that night with vivid clarity—the knock at Hope’s door, the police delivering the news that Adrian had been in a car accident, that he had died instantly. And because Adrian hadn’t changed his next of kin, Hope was the first to receive the news.
What made it even more harrowing was that Lucia had been in the car as well, and she too had perished at the scene.The truck driver, a sole witness, later described to the police that he had seen them locked in a desperate struggle over the steering wheel, before the car hurtled through the bush and slammed into a tree.
Even now, we still haven’t figured out why they were in the car together or what caused the argument. All we can do is assume that Adrian and Lucia had started seeing each other again.
The days following the accident blurred into a whirlwind of disbelief and grief.I knew Hope was absolutely devastated, numb with shock, and having to tell Zac only added to the pain. She stayed close to Adrian’s parents, helping with the funeral arrangements, especially since he had been their only child.
I did my best to support her and Zac, to offer whatever comfort I could.But deep down, I knew what she truly needed was the solace of her family, for them to mourn together through the unrelenting ache of loss.
Arianna shifts uneasily, her frayed nerves still betraying her composure.
“Thank you. But to be honest, I barely knew them, or remember them at all. I was only two when they died, and I never met my biological father, so I don’t have a single memory of him. I was raised by my aunt, that’s her in the car.” She gestures towards the woman waiting in the driveway, her gaze cautious as it meets mine. “She’s been helping me try to find Zac. We had no idea he went by a different surname, which is probably why tracking him down has been so difficult.”
“How did you know he lived here?” I ask curiously.
“I met my boyfriend, Connor, four months ago, and his dad used to coach Zac’s soccer team when he was a kid. His dad’s retired now, but he mentioned that it was possible Zac still lived here, in his childhood home. He knew it was the right Zac because he remembered our father coming to watch him play sometimes.”
Her explanation stirs a flood of thoughts and emotions inside me. Mostly, it’s the thought that Arianna—the sweet, innocent little baby I held all those years ago—is now old enough to have a boyfriend. Time has flown by so fast that it only makes me want to cling to my girls for a little bit longer, because I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for the day they bring home their first boyfriend.
I want to ask her more about this boy named Connor, but the sound of light footsteps approaching makes me instantly pause. I sense her presence before I even hear her voice, a sensation that seems to happen every time she’s near.
