A scant three days after His Majesty’s visit, at first light, the front of the estate buzzed with activity. It was the day of my departure. With Flora and our servants believing I was leaving for a graduation trip, only a few attendants and my father came to bid me farewell. Despite the relative paucity of the gathering and the chill of the brisk morning air, warmth and gratitude swelled within me. My father was here, after all.
Indeed, he was here when perhaps he should not have been. He looked utterly exhausted, likely from staying up all night to address a backlog of work—work that had piled up due to taking half a day to go visit Mother’s grave.
“It means a lot to me that you’re here, Father. I know how incredibly busy you are,” I said.
“Of course,” he responded warmly. “You’re leaving home—it’s only right that I see you off.”
It was a somewhat brusque string of words, yet I keenly felt the tender sentiment behind every syllable. It was curious to think how just days prior, I might’ve brushed off his attendance as a mere formality. But now, everything felt different.
I was beyond grateful that we’d achieved a reconciliation before I left. Had we not, I feared that I might’ve been burdened with regret. My wish was that we could have found our way to each other sooner, but it wouldn’t do to be greedy now.
Meeting his gaze, seeing those emerald eyes tinged with sorrow, the urge to say, “I wish I didn’t have to leave,” nearly overcame me. I fought the tears, tightened my lips, and with as much grace as I could muster, I bowed deeply. “Thank you for everything these past sixteen years.”
Despite my effort to keep steady, my voice betrayed me, wavering ever so slightly. A rush of tears threatened to spill from my eyes again, but I choked it back as best I could. I wished, more than anything, to retain my composure in this final moment, but there was just too much between us left unsaid. Keeping my head bowed, unwilling to reveal my tear-brimmed eyes, I gritted my teeth and held my peace.
But in that deafening quiet, something unexpected broke through. Without a word, my father reached out and gently drew me into his embrace—an embrace so warm, so comforting. “Carolina Sanchez,” he murmured, his voice close to my ear. “You are my pride and joy. I will be forever grateful that you were born to Karen and I.”
His words, tinged with a hint of slightly strained emotion, echoed the affirmation I’d yearned to hear all my life. In that moment, I felt like I truly belonged—that my existence wasn’t just some cruel twist of fate. Tears now streaming down my face unchecked, I hugged him back. Perhaps my confession from yesterday had been weighing on his mind, shaping his response to me now. He had done his best to comfort me, and yet, I couldn’t help but smile inwardly, noting that he didn’t add, “Your mother would say the same.” It was just like him to not speak for those no longer with us, nor did I need him to. His words alone were more than enough.
“Thank you, Father. Your words give me peace. I’ll carry that warmth with me into the empire.”
“There is no need to thank me for feeling how I feel.”
Seeing him stick to his stoicism, even in a moment as poignant as this, brought a bittersweet smile to my face. Slightly pulling away from him, I glanced up; oh, he was crying. I’d never seen his face display anything more expressive than a scowl, and yet here he was. Crying like a child—over me.
“I won’t ask you to be exceptional, or to be better than others,” he said, his voice steady despite the tears. “Just lead a happy, healthy life. That’s all I want of you.”
“Of course, Father.”
With his final wish firmly entrusted to me, he slowly let go. The sudden realization that this was goodbye gripped my chest like a vise, but I knew I had to move forward—for our family’s sake and for my own.
He gently stroked my hair, attempting a smile. “Take care, Carolina. Be kind to yourself.”
I sensed his loneliness, his reluctance to let me go. Still, he didn’t try to hold me here. He pushed me forward with all his might. Drawing strength from his unspoken support, I mustered up all my resolve and forced my own lips to smile. “I will. Take care, Father. Goodbye!”
Before my courage could falter, I turned away from my father and the only home I’d ever known. You’ll be okay, I reassured myself. Reluctance doesn’t equal regret. You have what it takes to thrive in an unknown land.
You’ll be fine.
With renewed determination, I boarded the royal carriage. A soft sniffle from behind reached my ears, but I didn’t look back. I forged ahead, focused on what was to come.
As the carriage jolted into motion, I gazed out the window, watching my cherished home and my more cherished father recede into the distance, growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment. Finally, when both were on the edge of disappearing entirely, I turned from my past and faced my future.