I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. This man, the stranger who had once turned my blood to ice, who I had feared would be my end, was the only true warmth I had ever known.
As we pulled apart and turned to walk toward the parking lot, I paused. Standing about fifty yards away, half-hidden behind the shade of a large oak tree, was a man in a dark, expensive overcoat. His hair was thinner, his posture slightly stooped, but the sharp, condemning lines of his face were unmistakable. My father. He was watching me.
My heart didn’t hammer against my ribs. My blood didn’t turn to ice. I felt absolutely nothing.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t run. I simply reached up, slid my sunglasses over my eyes, took Silas’s rough hand in my left, held Maya’s tiny hand in my right, and walked away into the Pacific sunshine. Because I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was no longer the terrified girl in the back of the taxi, and I was no longer afraid of the dark.
If you want more stories like this, or if you’d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I’d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don’t be shy about commenting or sharing.