Chapter 13 - My Father Shows Up At My Doorstep Weeping
Two days after the headline broke, a luxury sedan pulled up the gravel driveway of my Bar Harbor farmhouse. I watched from the second-floor window as my father stepped out into the biting Maine snow. He looked ten years older, his tailored suit wrinkled and his silver hair disheveled from the exhausting cross-country flight.
He walked up the wooden porch steps and began pounding desperately on my front door with trembling fists. "Sienna! I know you're in there! Please open the door! Let us talk like family!" he shouted hoarsely.
I walked slowly down the stairs, unlocking the heavy deadbolt and pulling the wooden door open an inch. My father stood on the porch, his eyes wide and bloodshot, tears freezing on his wrinkled cheeks.
"Sienna, thank God," he choked out, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the doorframe. "Please... the bank is seizing our home, the firm is gone, and Eleanor's life is ruined."
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I looked at him with a cold, detached gaze, holding my woolen sweater tightly around my chest against the chill. "You flew all the way to Maine just to ask for a financial bailout?" I asked quietly.
"We are your family, Sienna!" he sobbed, dropping his head in utter humiliation. "Please have mercy on us."
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