Packing up and leaving Peoria had been the right call. There was no denying it. If she had stayed in that suffocating small town, Vince would have relentlessly hounded her every single day, and her mother would have never stopped applying guilt-ridden pressure to force a toxic reconciliation. Here, amidst the concrete and the noise, she finally held the steering wheel to her own life.
Sitting there in the warm breeze, her thoughts drifted aimlessly toward her late father’s estranged family—a subject heavily shrouded in mystery. Valerie honestly knew practically nothing about her paternal side. Over the years, Victor had only vaguely mentioned that his wealthy parents had fiercely, bitterly disapproved of his choice to marry Linda.
The bitter fallout had been so spectacular that they had completely severed all contact shortly after the wedding. Valerie didn’t even have a clue if her mysterious grandparents were still walking the earth, but a quiet, persistent part of her had always harbored a secret desire to track them down, to look them in the eye and finally understand the missing puzzle pieces of her own history.
Later that evening, the heavy weight of reality settled back onto her shoulders as she meticulously prepped for her heavily anticipated, rescheduled interview. This was her golden ticket. Striking out was simply not an option on the table—her checking account was currently hovering terrifyingly close to zero. Opting to save the precious few dollars she had left, she skipped the expensive train and walked a grueling mile to catch a cheaper cross-town bus, her stomach tying itself into a series of agonizing, nervous knots the entire ride.
Stepping out of the elevator and into the incredibly sleek, ultra-modern corporate office, she took a seat in the plush leather waiting area. She instantly felt like a glaring, awkward sore thumb entirely out of place amidst the sea of razor-sharp designer suits and glossy, high-end briefcases. She nervously smoothed her hands over the fabric of her simple, budget-friendly blouse, a dark wave of impostor syndrome crashing over her. A few agonizing minutes later, a sharply dressed young receptionist glanced down at a clipboard, checked off a name, and politely pointed a manicured finger toward a heavy oak door.
“You’re up next,” the young woman announced, flashing a practiced, polite smile.
Valerie forced herself to stand up. She sucked in a massive, grounding breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed the heavy door open. Seated behind an absolutely massive, gleaming mahogany desk was an older gentleman reading a file. When he looked up, her jaw practically hit the carpet. It was Stephen. The exact same fragile man she had literally scraped off the sweltering pavement just a few days ago.
“Hi, um… I’m here for the two o’clock interview,” she stammered, her voice suddenly incredibly shaky and thin.
Stephen’s lined face instantly lit up with a brilliant, genuine shock.
“No way—it’s actually you! What an absolute, unbelievable coincidence!”
“Yeah, it’s really me,” she let out a breathless, stunned laugh, feeling the rigid tension instantly drain out of her spine. “How are you feeling today?”
“Oh, I am doing so much better, especially now that I’m seeing you standing in my office,” he replied, his tone radiating a deep, grandfatherly warmth.
“That is so good to hear,” she said, her frayed nerves finally beginning to ease into something resembling calm. “So, I guess we should talk about the open position…”
“Wait, you’re honestly here applying for the assistant manager role?” Stephen asked, leaning back in his expensive leather chair, completely incredulous. “How on earth has someone as incredibly kind, quick-thinking, and sharp as you not been snapped up by a headhunter already?”
Valerie felt a hot flush creep up her neck, a tiny, glowing ember of genuine hope finally flickering to life in her chest. Stephen seemed like a truly, fundamentally good person.
“Do you mind if I take a quick look at your resume?” he asked, extending a hand before flashing a wide, easy grin. “Though, to be perfectly honest with you, I’d be completely happy just hiring you right here on the spot based on your character alone.”
Her heart soared straight into the stratosphere. She could already vividly picture herself sitting in a brightly lit parlor, happily celebrating this massive victory with Tessa over a giant, messy bowl of chocolate ice cream. She handed over the crisp sheet of paper.
But as Stephen casually adjusted his reading glasses and began to skim the printed lines of her professional history, the warm, jovial atmosphere in the room completely evaporated. His entire demeanor shifted on a dime. All the color rapidly drained from his weathered face, leaving him looking like he had just seen a ghost, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the heavy mahogany desk.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing with sudden, deep concern.
“You… you lived at the old house on Maple Street down in Peoria?” he asked, his voice suddenly dropping to a hoarse, trembling whisper.
“Yeah, I grew up there. Why do you ask?” she replied, thoroughly bewildered by his intense reaction.
Stephen shakily reached for a crystal carafe on his desk, clumsily pouring himself a glass of water. He downed it in one single, desperate gulp, and then pulled in a massive, shuddering breath.
“Valerie, please tell me… are you… are you my granddaughter?”
“What?” She completely froze in her chair, staring at him as if he had just started speaking a foreign language.
“Victor…” Stephen choked out, tears instantly brimming in his eyes. “Victor was my only son. He was your father. Valerie, I am your grandfather.”
The air was completely sucked right out of the room. Valerie sat entirely paralyzed, her brain violently short-circuiting as she desperately tried to process the sheer magnitude of his words. With a shaking hand, Stephen reached into his open briefcase and slowly pulled out a faded, dog-eared Polaroid photograph. He slid it across the polished wood of the desk. It was an old snapshot of a smiling young boy. The face staring back at her was completely, undeniably identical to a cherished childhood picture of her dad that she kept carefully framed on her nightstand back at the apartment.
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