Unconditional

“That’s not the point,” my father hisses. His face is flushed and mottled, the vein popping out of his forehead. “What happens next, huh? Who’s going to take care of you? You’re a grown woman with no skills, no bankable assets other than a pretty face, and even that’s already on the wane.”

I gasp, feeling the chill of the truth strike me hard. “Daddy—”

He seems to realize how far he’s gone. He catches himself, taking a breath, lowering his voice. “I’m worried about you, pumpkin, that’s all.” He manages a concerned tone. “Can’t you see? All couples fight, it’s part of every relationship. But one little disagreement isn’t reason enough to throw away your whole life together.”

He takes a step closer, reaching for me. I flinch back.

“Think about Alex,” he says beseechingly. Suddenly, the anger is gone, and his face is the picture of fatherly worry. “Your wonderful house, all those trips you take together. You have a good life with him, I couldn’t bear it if you made a rash decision now and then spent the rest of your life regretting it. You are getting older,” he adds with an awkward chuckle. “I’m always hearing it gets harder to find a good man out there!”

He’s saying everything I’ve already told myself, and it’s no less true than when my fears whisper to me, dark in the night. But I cling onto my resolve, onto the one thing that can’t be overcome. “Alex isn’t a good man,” I tell him, my voice chilly.

Dad laughs again, dismissive. “So, he has his faults, don’t we all? A marriage is about compromise. You’ll find a way to work things out, if you just give him a chance.”

“I already did,” my voice twists, “I tried. I forgave him, and then…” I swallow, turning away. “I can’t go back to him, Dad. I won’t. I don’t love him.”

“Since when does that matter?”

I look back at him in shock.

“Oh, come on, Carina, we’re both adults.” My father rolls his eyes, as if I’m a child talking about fairy tales and prince charming. “Your sister may get swept up in all that soulmate nonsense, but you and I both know only fools fall in love without looking first.”

I shake my head desperately, not wanting to admit that I’m just the same as him. But I know deep down he’s telling me the truth.

Haven’t I joked about it with my friends, that line from a Marilyn Monroe movie: it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one? We would all cluck under our breaths talking about a friend or classmate who’d thrown caution to the wind and married someone from the wrong side of the tracks. To us, anything less than six figures and a trust fund was a failure; how else would we keep our bright, glossy lives running the way we wished?

Dad gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s natural to get cold feet, but let’s be honest, you’re running out of time. You’re not twenty-two anymore, and after your string of failures, you’d be lucky to have a man like him. You know, I was surprised you managed to hook him in the first place,” he adds, sounding admiring. “But you always did find a way of getting what you want. Are you really going to throw all that hard work away?” he prompts, helpful. “I’m only saying, this isn’t a game, you leave it too long, you won’t be able to make amends.”

I shake my head, trying to block out his words. He always had a silver tongue, he could charm anyone into agreeing with him, but I can’t fall for it, not again. “You’re not listening,” I try to explain. “I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to compromise. It’s over.”

“Give me one good reason,” my father demands. “And none of that bullshit about love, that’s nothing compared to the life you’re throwing away. You think the bills get paid on their own? That money just falls out of the sky for us?”

I swallow, feeling panic rise in my chest. I don’t want to tell him, but I can’t think of any other way to make him see just how impossible it is with Alexander. My father thinks this is some lovers’ quarrel, a petty scene I’m blowing out of proportion.

“I can’t go back,” I tell him slowly, my heart racing. “He…” I stop. “He hurt me, Daddy.”

I lift my eyes to him, silently pleading. He has to understand.

My father looks away.

“You had a fight, and things got out of hand,” he says smoothly, still avoiding my eyes. “But he’s sorry, he wants to make it up to you. Let him, pumpkin. Go back and sort this out.”

My blood runs cold.

I stare at him in horror. I can’t believe it.

I’m his daughter, standing right here in front of him, telling him what happened, that this man hurt me.

And he still doesn’t care.

All he cares about is himself, and how the breakup will affect his life. Like I’m a pawn in his game, supposed to go obediently back to the man who hit me and pretend like nothing’s wrong, and for what? The promise of some investment deal? Tables at the best restaurants, party invitations and a charge account?

Is that all I’m worth to him?

Something inside me breaks wide open, a raw, jagged wound so sharp I could cry.

“You should go now,” I whisper, turning away before he can see the tears stinging in my eyes. “It’s getting late. You hate driving in the dark.”

“Not until you see sense,” he insists, as if he’s still in the right.