much.”
“Of course.” Janine stands and gives me a hand to help me up, then takes my robe and helps me put it on. As she does the same with my slippers, my mind and body can barely believe what I went through last night. Just twenty-four hours ago, I was a happily engaged woman, looking forward to spending a romantic weekend with my fiancé. But twenty-four hours ago, I was also a very naive dreamer.
Janine keeps supporting me with an arm around me as I slowly walk out of the bedroom.
Once we reach the terrace where Dad is having breakfast, I say a quick “thank you” to Janine, who then goes to get some medicine for my headache. As I observe my dad from afar, I can’t help but despise him even more. Whoever said parents tend to sacrifice themselves for the wellbeing of their children lied. Dad would gladly sacrifice me to keep an immaculate reputation on Wall Street.
“Good morning,” Dad says.
I sit down in front of him, barely alive after going through the worst night of my life. “Good morning.”
Putting down his newspaper, he observes my gloomy expression. “Look, the smartest way to survive a breakup is to keep yourself busy,” Dad advises, his tone devoid of any empathy. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
So easy for him to say, right? Of course, when it’s not you, it’s always easy to say.
“I hate you,” I casually reply as Janine puts my matcha latte on the table and gives me a box of Xanax. “I asked you to go to Rotterdam to support me, not Mom.”
“Petra,” he snaps, although not too loud. “Watch your mouth. You still live under my roof.”
But I reply just as fast, “I’d gladly move out, believe me.”
“Let’s stop this nonsense, shall we?” he asks, his tone tired and hurt. “You know I tried to convince her.”
As I take a Xanax, I say, “You didn’t try hard enough.” Then I put it in my mouth and drink some of my matcha to swallow it down.
“We are organizing a corporate dinner next month,” he informs me. “It’d be a great opportunity to raise some capital to grow your fund. Our clients will be attending, and I’ve spoken greatly about its performance, you know.”
“Are you gonna take a cut if I raise money from your network?”
“No,” he promptly replies. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’re going through.” But of course—Dad trying to buy his forgiveness with a capital injection. Does he really believe he can buy me like that?
As Janine brings me avocado toast with vegan cheese and cherry tomatoes, I say, “Okay, thanks.” And I take a first bite.
But Dad doesn’t stop there. “Petra,” he says again, this time with a tone more empathetic. And my attention goes back to him. “Unlike your mom, I know how much you love him. I myself loved your mother just as much.”
I raise an eyebrow in total disbelief. “And yet your parents never prevented you from marrying her.”
“If I could make things different, I would.” Since I don’t reply, he adds, “Despite hating it, I supported you and Alex from the beginning. Not many parents would’ve done the same.”
“Yeah…” And as we keep staring at each other, I add, “Until Mom stepped in and threatened your precious little reputation.” Dad lets out a sigh, irritated by the blatant truth I’ve exposed him to. “I might be young, but I’m not stupid,” I remind him. “I know there is a lot at stake.”
“Did Alex tell you?” he asks suddenly, his voice laced with anxiety and fear.
“He didn’t tell me the crimes you committed, no.” As I keep looking him in the eye, I can see that the more I remind him of his past crimes, the more inner bruises and cuts I create. Even if he tries to appear unaffected, I know him pretty well. So I decide to say, “But I want you to know that whatever they are, I can handle the truth and forgive you.” He breaks eye contact, most likely out of embarrassment. “But I won’t forgive you for asking my fiancé to break up with me.” And because I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me, I announce, “After that corporate dinner, I’m moving out.”
Then, as I stand up, ready to leave the table, Dad asks, “Are you really gonna leave me here all alone?” His voice carries a heavy sadness—a sadness I was looking forward to.
“You’ve got Janine, no?”