When did I first feel so utterly lost in this reality?
So terrifyingly, hopelessly, and bewilderingly lost?
Most likely, it was the moment ... when I found my mother’s body.
That was when I first felt the crushing weight of defeat. Time seemed to freeze, staring at me with its glassy, empty eyes.
Mom just didn’t wake up.
Or rather, as it turned out, falling asleep and never waking up was her choice. And that choice cut me deep ... it wounded me in a way I couldn’t fathom, because I couldn’t understand why she did it.
Why did Mom take her own life? What drove her to that edge?
The guilt that surged within me was unbearable. I tried to push it away, to keep myself from climbing the walls in confusion, but it crept back, clamping down on me like a vise, making me its prey. I felt like I’d missed something crucial, failed to notice my mother’s state of mind, perhaps neglected to give her the attention she needed. Worst of all, I feared I’d never forgive myself for it, and I’d never get answers to why my mom did this to both of us.
After her death, Mom left me a tangle of unsolved mysteries, a pile of bills, a heap of tasteless old clothes, a tiny apartment in Boston, and her overbearing, let’s just say, not entirely stable friends.
Though, to be fair, I was grateful to them for taking care of the funeral arrangements, sparing me from that nightmare. Just the memory of holding Mom’s cold, stiff hand in mine was enough—it haunted me even a week after the burial.
In those seven days, my mind churned through endless thoughts. There was self-reflection, blame for everything and everyone, but mostly, there was regret. Regret for the things left unsaid, the tears left uncried, the laughter left unshared, for all the hours we could have spent together. We never spoke our feelings out loud, but I always felt her boundless maternal love. It was her unique, hands-off parenting style—treating me as an equal. We were friends, and at some point, I became the older friend, the one whose opinion Alexis, my mom, always took seriously. She never hit me or scolded me, not as a child, and certainly not when I grew into a young woman, even though her friends constantly nagged her, saying she was a negligent mother, that she needed to keep me on a tight leash, control me even more than boys. But Alexis would just shake her head with a mysterious smile.
“Mom, why did you do this?”
That thought haunts me as I fall asleep and wake up, day after day, unable to find peace. I can’t even gauge how bad I feel because pain is such a complex, personal thing, measured on a scale unique to each of us. I don’t remember the last time I ate this week, stepped outside for fresh air, or spoke to anyone. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my inner gaze lost in the unknown, my eyes fixed on a spot on the molding.
The lock clicked, and the front door opened and closed. Judging by the shuffling footsteps, it’s Bella, one of Mom’s posse, here to check if I’m still breathing.
“Valerie, it’s time to pull yourself together! Do you hear me? Come on, sweetheart, get up! Let’s tidy up around here and put an end to this gloomy neglect of yourself,” Bella’s voice pulls me slightly out of my hypnotic spiral into an imaginary abyss, but I have zero desire to obey her tone. She’s barking up the wrong tree! I’ve always done what I want, when I want!
“Get up, you impossible girl, before I drag you out by the leg! We’ve got things to do and an important conversation to have!”
“What’s the point of talking now? What’s going to change? Why don’t you dig into your own dark soul instead, Bella? And by the way, I didn’t invite you over!”
“Ugh, how rude,” she huffs indulgently, long used to my sassy attitude. “If I’m dark, that doesn’t mean you have to paint my soul black too. If it’s not bright, it’s at least colorful.”
“You were close to her,” I snap, sitting up in bed, my sharp gaze searching Bella’s face for any flicker of emotion. “Why did she do it? I need to understand, damn it! Why did she feel the need to end her life?”
Bella’s face tightens into a mournful mask. But deep in her eyes, I can see that this secret will never surface.
“What, not gonna tell me, you cryptic witch? I knew it! But I have a right to know why Mom took her own life!”
“It’s as much a devastating shock to me as it is to everyone who knew her,” Bella sighs mournfully, while intriguingly raising her plucked eyebrows. “But I’ve got other news that might distract you from this tragedy. I found your father!”
Hearing about my father feels as surreal as hearing that Atlantis just rose from the ocean. Both events seem equally impossible to me. Of course, I know I wasn’t conceived by divine intervention, but the topic of my father came up only once. Mom told me she used a donor, that she never even laid eyes on my biological father. Back then, as a twelve-year-old, I struggled but eventually came to terms with the fact that I was conceived in a lab, not like most “normal” kids. I convinced myself I was special in the most wonderful way. That was the end of any questions about “Dad,” and we never revisited the subject. No other men ever stepped into our family to fill that role. Alexis explained it by saying men were too much trouble, and life without them was free and easy. I didn’t argue; I even liked the freedom Mom gave me. I didn’t have to adjust to some stranger or answer to anyone. I learned life’s lessons on my own, without adult interference, bruising myself and healing my own wounds, growing up fast and starting to earn pocket money early by discovering my knack for singing. Not that I lived for music—it was just something I enjoyed, belting out solos with a mic in hand, just as I enjoyed rollerblading, learning the art of ikebana and jiu-jitsu, baking all sorts of treats, and swimming breaststroke. Yeah, I’m a multifaceted, vibrant, high-energy girl who, without false modesty, believes in her own uniqueness. “Firecracker,” that’s what Mom called me, seeing her grown daughter less and less with each passing day ...
“So what?” I reply to Bella’s comment about my father, shrugging indifferently. “Why do you think I need a dad now? I’ve been an adult for a while, and there’s no room in my life for some random donor uncle. I hope you didn’t freak the poor guy out already?”
“Valerie,” Bella sighs with her whole hefty frame, as if preparing to drop something heavy and intimate. “He’s not a donor. Your mother never used those services, but she had to lie to you to avoid getting into painful details.”
“Well, well, well, that’s news! To say I’m shocked is an understatement! What else have you been hiding from me? Spill it, since you’ve already opened this can of worms!” I shake my head in disbelief, like one of those bobblehead dolls, unable to imagine what I need to brace myself for.
“Alexis dated him for a while when she was staying with friends in Merrill, a small town in Wisconsin. Darren—that’s your father’s name,” Bella starts to crack, fidgeting with scattered items as if it calms her. “Your mom was head over heels, desperately in love with him. He’s the one who ended things, disappearing from her life without a trace. Alexis kept waiting, hoping, but ...”
“So it’s because of him?” I whisper, horrified by my own assumptions, already hating this stranger of a father.
“I don’t think so, not after all these years. Maybe Alexis just got tired. She once let slip that her life ended when Darren vanished. She didn’t want you to learn the truth this way, didn’t want to seem like a jilted woman in your eyes, clinging to a past love all these years. She hated pity. Then you grew up, became independent ... and she couldn’t hold on anymore. That love burned her out back then, but we never got the full story—she kept a lot from me too. And you know how persistent I am; I can make anyone fall in line, but not your mother. Still, I tracked down your wayward father. Though, he didn’t believe me when I told him he has a grown daughter. Refused to listen at first. But come on now! I’ve fought tougher battles in courtrooms—I made him agree to take tests to prove or disprove his paternity!”
“Good grief, Bella! I’m not proving anything to anyone! Let him wander wherever he’s been wandering—what do I care? What court battles are you even talking about?” I wave my hands at her, my whole demeanor radiating outrage.
“Aren’t you even a little curious to see the man your mother loved so deeply?” It’s a low blow, and Bella knows it. Curiosity, or rather, an insatiable need to know, has always been a core part of my complicated nature.
“Maybe I’d like to look into the eyes of this person, but I’m definitely not begging to be his daughter!” I say, lifting my chin defiantly.
“Of course, a ‘treasure’ like you has to be earned,” Bella smirks. “Then you’ll have to go to him, because Mr. Darren Ledmer insists on doing the tests at a clinic he trusts. Will you go?” And the sly woman is already holding a suitcase she pulled off the shelf.
Yes, I’m going! I always make decisions quickly and on impulse. In this case, I think I agreed to this wild adventure mostly to distract myself from the grief and nagging thoughts haunting me.
Though I usually prefer flying, this time I’m stuck dragging myself along on a train, since it’s the only way to get to a nowhere town called Merrill.
I know someone’s supposed to meet me—Bella arranged it in advance—though I have no idea how Bella described me to this “possible father” with her vivid imagination. Judging by the reaction of the man stepping toward me now, he’s not thrilled with what he sees. A tall, dark-haired, slightly graying, distinguished-looking guy in a sharp business suit looks both confused and stunned as he stares right at me. He’s in his fifties, I’d guess, but his build is still strong and fit.
“Yeah, it’s probably the prospect of fatherhood that’s got him in a daze, not my appearance. And I happen to like my bold, carefree style in both hair and clothes. I don’t think it’s ever too much, and I couldn’t care less about other people’s tastes, mister!
So what if I’m wearing lemon-yellow pants, a green jacket, a white scarf with red polka dots, messy red hair, and a piercing in my left eyebrow? I like myself just fine like this! And there’s no need to scrutinize me so intensely and judgmentally! I didn’t grimace at your goatee, did I?”