ZARA'S POV
I sat in the big living room of our mansion, checking my time. Under my skin, my antsy feeling hummed. Three years had passed since I'd last spoken to my father, Jacob. Since the night I vanished, there was complete silence between us, and reaching out at this point in time brought emotions racing that I hadn't thoroughly prepared for.
I heard the sound of a car drawing up outside. Michael caught my eye and gave an encouraging nod, resting his hand over mine for a moment or two. "You're doing the right thing, Zara," he said softly.
The door opened, and there he was: Jacob, my father. His face looked older, lined with furrows of care and years lost. But his eyes-those eyes that were reflections of my own-lit up when they fell on me.
"Zara." His voice shook, and guilt washed over me in a flood. I rose to greet him, embracing him tightly and briefly.