Chapter 6 - The Journey to Vermont
By twilight, the pool party was completely cleaned up. Uncle Richard agreed to stay at our house to watch Ariel, ensuring she was safe and surrounded by family who loved her.
Glen, Clara, and I loaded into our SUV and began the long seven-hour drive north toward the remote medical facility in the green hills of Vermont. The drive was defined by a heavy, suffocating silence. Clara sat in the backseat, staring out the window at the passing highway lights, while Glen drove and I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the laptop resting on my lap.
I replayed the video clip over and over again. “Maya... my daughter... I want to go home...”
His voice was thin, but it was undeniably his. The memory of my teenage years returned in a rush—how angry I had been after my mother died, how I had pushed him away, how I had blamed him for marrying Clara so quickly. I realized with a aching heart that my father had felt entirely alone when he received his diagnosis. He had thought he was sparing me pain, unaware that his disappearance would inflict a far deeper, longer-lasting wound.
"Clara," I said, breaking the three-hour silence.
She looked up in the rearview mirror. "Yes?"
"Why did you keep the photo in that pendant?"
Clara swallowed hard before answering. "Because... despite everything, I loved your father. When he went into the coma six years ago, the doctors told me he would never wake up. They told me to pull the plug. I refused. I paid the bills, I fought the lawyers, I kept his heart beating. That tiny photo was the only thing that kept me grounded when I felt like giving up. I wore it every single day under my clothes so I wouldn't lose my mind."
She paused, her voice breaking. "I know you hate me, Maya. You have every right to. I let my fear of failure and financial ruin corrupt what started as an act of devotion. Once you start lying, it becomes a cage you can't escape."
I looked at her reflection in the mirror. I didn't forgive her. The pain of six lost years couldn't be erased by an explanation. But for the first time, I saw Clara not as an evil stepmother from a fairy tale, but as a flawed, terrified woman who had made a catastrophic choice and gotten hopelessly trapped inside it.
"When we get there," Glen said, looking at the GPS, "what is the facility’s protocol? Will they let us in?"
"I am listed as his legal guardian and primary medical proxy," Clara replied. "They will let me in with guests. But the head doctor, Dr. Vance, is strict. He doesn't know about Arthur’s family. He thinks I am his only surviving relative."
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"Then you're going to tell him the truth," I said firm. "We are bringing my father home."
At 3:00 AM, the SUV turned off the main highway onto a winding, unlit mountain road bordered by dense pine forests. Nestled in a quiet valley stood St. Jude’s—a sleek, modern glass-and-stone complex that looked more like a private luxury resort than a hospital.
