Saving Grace

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Lyla's P.O.V:

The drive seemed endless. The 15 minutes I had spent in the car instead felt like years. I was anxious, nervous. I couldn’t help but be. I was filled with mixed emotions about seeing my dad again, being face to face with him for the first time in 6 years. Vic had offered to come along, and though I truly wanted him there with me I knew I had to do this on my own. At some point I had to learn to take care of myself; I couldn’t always rely on others to fight my battles for me, even though it was sometimes easier that way.

I turned down the street until I found it: 2234 N. Baker Avenue. I parked my car along the curb across the street as I gazed at my childhood home. It appeared to have been freshly painted, the once faded white exterior replaced with a rich beige color that complemented the brick finishing quite well. A flower garden lined the base of the massive porch, pinks and yellows giving the yard a peaceful vibe. My dad’s old Ford truck sat in the driveway, the same truck that I had learned how to drive in.

After several minutes of stalling I took a deep breath and stepped out of my car, slowly making my way across the street and up the long driveway to the front door. I lifted my hand to knock on the door, and after a brief hesitation I knocked loudly, shifting my weight from one foot to another as I awkwardly awaited an answer. I had almost talked myself into leaving, to running back to my car and driving away when the door swung open, and there he was: my dad. I looked up, our green eyes meeting, and his jaw noticeably dropped a little.

“Lyla?” He questioned softly. I smiled as I felt tears well up in my eyes.

“Hi dad,” I responded. A smile graced his face and he pulled me into a tight embrace without hesitation, his strong arms holding me close.

“Oh, honey I missed you so much,” he muttered as he held me. “Come on let’s go inside.” He pulled me into the house, shutting the door behind us. I walked through the entryway towards the living room.

It looked different; the furniture had changed, the carpet replaced with hardwood floors. Familiar pictures sat atop the mantle above the fireplace; an old family picture of my parents and I, baby pictures of me, a picture from high school graduation, and a new one: a picture from a photo shoot that I had done a few years back. “I stumbled upon that one online. You looked so beautiful I had to frame it; it made me feel like you were still here,” my dad’s voice cut through the silence from behind me. I turned and gave him a small smile before taking a seat on the leather sofa. He came and sat next to me, and I took it upon myself to speak first.

“Dad, I’m so sorry I never came home,” my voice cracked a little as I spoke.

“No, Lyla, I’m the only one who has a reason to be sorry. The way I treated you….it was uncalled for, and I haven’t been able to forgive myself. I never should’ve tried to force you to give up on your dreams, that’s not what parents are supposed to do. I should never have given you an ultimatum,” his voice was kind and sincere as he spoke.

“Dad, I forgave you a long time ago. I just – I have this bad habit of pushing people away for no reason, and I guess I did that with you too. In a way I've always been afraid that you would be disappointed in me."

"Why would I be disappointed in you, Ly?" He asked and I looked away from him.

"Because I was so adament about how I wanted to live my life and it didn't really pan out the way I had hoped," I replied quietly.

"Honey, I could never be disappointed in you. You're my little girl. All I want is for you to be happy." He grabbed my hand and squeezed lightly. "And I'll let you in on a little secret: life rarely goes the way you had planned." I let out a small laugh and he did the same.

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