The Accident

The headlights of the oncoming truck were the last thing Veronica saw before the impact. The sound of metal crunching against metal was deafening, followed by the sickening jolt of the car spinning out of control. Time seemed to slow as she was thrown forward, her seatbelt biting into her chest.

When the car finally came to a stop, everything was eerily silent. Veronica's vision blurred as she tried to make sense of the scene around her. The dashboard was crushed, smoke rising from the engine. Claire was slumped over the steering wheel, her face pale and motionless.

"Mom?" Veronica's voice was barely a whisper. She reached out, her fingers trembling, but her mother didn't respond. Panic surged through her, sharp and suffocating. "Mom, wake up! Please!"

The wail of sirens in the distance was the last thing Veronica heard before the darkness claimed her.

When Veronica woke, the hospital room was dim, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound. Her body ached, and her head throbbed, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight in her chest.

Claire was gone. The doctors had said it was instantaneous, that she hadn't suffered. But that was little comfort to Veronica, who now found herself utterly alone in the world.

Or so she thought.

It was the second day in the hospital when the man appeared—a stranger in a sharp suit, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Veronica blinked at him, her mind struggling to process his words.

"I'm your father," he said, his voice calm but unyielding.

The world that had already crumbled around her now seemed to shatter completely.

Veronica sat upright in her hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor grounding her in an unwelcome reality. The man standing at the foot of her bed hadn't moved, his sharp gray eyes fixed on her like he was trying to read her thoughts. She couldn't look away, though every instinct in her body screamed to.

"I'm your father," he said again, his voice measured but firm. He didn't flinch under her stunned gaze.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just said. Her father? That wasn't possible. Her father was dead. Her mother had told her so. She pressed her fingers against her temples, willing her thoughts to stop spinning.

"You're lying," she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. The accident had left her body battered and bruised, and her throat felt raw from crying in the days since. But even with her exhaustion, her disbelief was absolute.

"I'm not lying," the man said, stepping closer. His tailored suit and polished shoes seemed out of place in the small, drab hospital room. "I know this is a lot to process, but I came here as soon as I heard about the accident. I couldn't stay away."

Veronica stared at him, her pulse racing. "How… how do you even know about me?" she asked, her words laced with suspicion. "My mom never talked about you. She said you were dead."

The man's expression tightened, and for a moment, a flicker of pain crossed his face. "Your mother and I had… disagreements," he said carefully. "But I never stopped thinking about you, Veronica. I wanted to be a part of your life, but she didn't give me the chance."

"Don't," Veronica snapped, her anger flaring. "Don't act like this is her fault. She did everything for me. She worked two jobs. She gave up her life to make sure I had a future. And now you just show up and—what? Expect me to believe you're my father?"

Marcus sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I'm not here to discredit your mother. I know she did everything for you. But the truth is, I am your father. And I can prove it."

He pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the small table beside her bed. Veronica hesitated, then reached for it, her fingers trembling. The photo was old, the edges worn, but the image was unmistakable. Her mother, younger and smiling, stood beside Marcus, his arm draped protectively over her shoulder. In Claire's arms was a newborn wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.

Her heart pounded as she stared at the photo. It didn't make sense, but there it was—a piece of her past she'd never known existed.

"Why are you here?" Veronica finally asked, her voice quieter now. "Why now, after all these years?"

"I only found out about your mother's passing a few days ago," Marcus said, his tone soft. "And when I learned about the accident, I knew I couldn't stay away. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Veronica shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to walk in here and pretend you care after nineteen years of nothing. Where were you when I needed a father? When my mom needed help?"

"I wasn't given the chance," Marcus said, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "Your mother made it clear she didn't want me in your life. I tried to respect her wishes, but… maybe I made the wrong choice."

"You think?" Veronica shot back, her words dripping with sarcasm. She looked away, staring out the window at the rain streaking the glass. The world outside looked as gray and dreary as she felt.

Marcus let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. "I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But I'm here now, and I want to help. You've been through so much, Veronica. Let me take care of you."

"Take care of me?" she echoed, turning back to him with a bitter laugh. "You think you can just swoop in and fix everything? You don't even know me."

"Then let me get to know you," he said, his voice earnest. "Come to Beverly Hills with me. I can give you a fresh start—a new home, a new life. You don't have to do this alone."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Veronica's first instinct was to refuse, to tell him to leave her alone and never come back. But a tiny, treacherous part of her—a part that had always wondered what it would be like to have a father.

When the nurse came in to check her vitals, Marcus stepped out of the room, giving her space to think. Veronica leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Her mind was a mess of emotions—anger, confusion, grief—but beneath it all was a nagging sense of curiosity.

What if he was telling the truth? What if he really was her father? Would it be so terrible to find out?

When Marcus returned, she didn't look at him. "If I come with you," she said slowly, "it's not because I trust you. It's because I have nowhere else to go."

"That's fair," Marcus replied, his voice calm but relieved. "I'll arrange everything. You'll have time to pack and—"

"I don't need time," Veronica interrupted. Her voice was hard, but her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. "There's nothing left for me here."