Meghan
As far as I can remember, my father's study is a room segmented from the living room. To get there, I have to walk through the living room.
I step into the large living room and head toward the other end, where a dark wood door waits. I open it and step inside.
My heart pounds hard against my chest as I enter, and I can feel it in my ears. The study is almost dark, dimly lit by a little fire crackling in the fireplace to my left.
Behind the desk sits my father, leaning back in his chair with a glass of scotch in his hand.
I clench my jaw as I walk closer to him. I am ready for anything he is going to throw at me.
The silence in the room is deafening, heavy with an atmosphere that feels almost tangible. The only sounds breaking through this stillness are the rhythmic ebb and flow of my breath and the gentle crackling of the fire, its orange flames dancing in flickering shadows against the worn wooden walls. My gaze is fixed on my father, who sits solemnly behind his sturdy mahogany desk, an imposing figure against the backdrop of the two large crimson curtains that drape behind him, their rich fabric obscuring the windows and any light from the outside world.
On either side of the room, towering shelves are lined with books, some frayed at the edges, each volume a testament to the endless knowledge my father has accumulated over the years. Titles range from ancient philosophy to modern science, all remnants of his insatiable thirst for learning. I have always admired this about him. I remember those quiet weekends from my childhood, where he would immerse himself in his studies, the quiet turning of pages mingling with the soft rustle of paper, while I played at his feet, learning from the periphery of his wisdom.
Yet, on this day, as I stand before him, my heart aches with confusion. A wise man, he has always been a beacon of guidance in my life, yet I find myself grappling with an unsettling question: why would he choose to give his only daughter away in an arranged marriage? The reality of this decision feels foreign and unexpected, a stark contradiction to the nurturing love he has shown us throughout our lives. I never thought he would succumb to such traditions, and as I search his expression for answers, doubts and questions swirl chaotically within me.
"Japan, huh?" he finally says.
I bite my lower lip. That isn't the opening I expect.
"I had to leave, Dad. I couldn't go through with it."
He scoffs and leans off the desk, turning to face the curtains. One hand rests behind his back while the other holds his glass of scotch. Silence envelops us again. The crackling fire grows louder, and so does the sound of my heartbeat.
"What do you want me to say, Meghan?" he asks, turning to face me. "Do you want me to say I'm proud of you? For forfeiting the marriage I planned? A marriage that would have changed your life?"
I clench my jaw at his words. My heart pounds—not out of fright anymore, but out of anger. My blood boils. I can't believe my father has become this tyrant. This isn't the man I grew up loving. Something about him has changed, and I can't figure out what.
"I couldn't marry Lewis, Dad! He was abusive! And, worst of all, I didn't love him!" I yell.
It is the first time I have said his name since that day. It has been like a taboo to me. He represents the worst part of life, and I can't let myself think about it. I have trained myself to focus only on positivity. Yet, my father almost destroys everything I've worked hard for in the first minutes of our interaction after five years.
"You embarrassed me, Meghan! You left me stranded on your wedding day," he says. "I couldn't face my peers after that. And now you come home expecting what? A warm welcome?"
I grit my teeth as I stare at my father. My stomach churns, hurting so much I can hardly bear it. I let the pain consume me as I glare at him.
"All you care about is yourself," I say. "You almost destroyed my life, and I won't let you do the same to Chloe."
My father walks up to me, anger burning in his eyes. He reeks of liquor, the putrid smell making my stomach turn. The bright, enlightened man I once idolized as a child is now a caricature of himself. It hurts to see him like this.
"And who is going to stop me? You?" he asks.
His words drip with mockery. I can feel it emanating from him.
"Unlike you, your sister can think about the good of the family," he continues. "You call me selfish and greedy? Who ran off from the company, leaving it without a CEO for months? Even though I've done things that may seem wrong to you, I have never turned my back on this family. Not once."
I clench my jaw. There isn't much I can say. He is right. I can't believe it, but my father makes a point.
I ran off without considering the consequences. I only thought about myself. I left the company, knowing it would be without a leader, and didn't look back. Even now, I don't feel regret. Should I?
I relax and unclench my fists, trying to calm myself. There's no point in dragging this out any longer.
"I won't let you take Chloe's happiness from her. That's final," I say.
With that, I walk out of the study. Chloe waits by the door, and I can tell she has been eavesdropping on our conversation. But it doesn't matter. She needs to hear this. It's for her own good. I will not let our father ruin her life.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
I clench my jaw as I look at her. She is so innocent and naive. This is what our father is trying to take advantage of.
I ignore her completely and walk away.