✧TOGETHER FOREVER✧ ✓

39 ¶¶ CONFRONTATION

I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I stared at the imposing house in front of me, the house I had once called home. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. My heart pounded in my chest as memories of my last day here flooded back-my father's harsh words, my mother's disapproving look and the door slamming shut behind me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It had been six years since I'd been here, six years since my parents had disowned me for getting pregnant and deciding to keep Jordan.

Not once did they contact me during those hard times and I was skeptical about coming over but curiosity got the best of me.

I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror, straightening my hair and taking one last calming breath. I opened the car door and stepped out, smoothing down my dress. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of blooming roses from my mother's garden.

A butler, unfamiliar to me, opened the front door before I could knock. He was a tall, stern-looking man in his fifties, dressed immaculately in a black suit.

I didn't put it past my parents to change their staff on a regular basis.

"Good evening, Miss Williams. Please, come in," he said, his tone polite but distant.

"Thank you," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. I stepped into the grand foyer, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The house seemed larger than I remembered, colder. The familiar family portraits on the walls felt like they belonged to someone else's life.

The butler led me through the house, past the elegant sitting room with its plush sofas and grand piano, past the library where I had spent countless hours studying and dreaming of a future that had been derailed. Finally, we arrived at the dining room.

My parents were already seated at the long mahogany table, a lavish spread laid out before them. My mother, Lillian, looked up with a forced smile, her perfectly styled hair and designer dress a stark contrast to my simple attire. My father, Richard, nodded curtly, his expression unreadable.

My mother, Lillian Brown, was the epitome of grace and sophistication. Her dirty blonde hair, meticulously styled into soft waves, framed her angular face and accentuated her piercing blue eyes.

Even in her fifties, she maintained a youthful appearance with the help of an impeccable skincare regimen and a wardrobe full of designer dresses. Lillian had always been the socialite, effortlessly charming at charity galas and high-profile events. Her poise and elegance were a product of her career as a successful interior designer, a profession that allowed her to blend her keen eye for aesthetics with her natural charm.

My father, Richard Brown, exuded a commanding presence with his tall, broad-shouldered frame and stern demeanor. His dirty blonde hair was streaked with silver, adding a distinguished air to his otherwise intense appearance. His deep-set blue eyes were often furrowed in concentration, a testament to his demanding career as a corporate lawyer. Richard's success in the legal field was built on his sharp intellect and relentless drive, qualities that earned him a formidable reputation among his peers. Despite his stern exterior, there was a hint of weariness in his eyes, perhaps from the long hours spent in the courtroom and the weight of expectations he placed on himself and those around him.

"Ashley, dear. It's been too long," Lillian said, standing to embrace me. The hug was brief, perfunctory, lacking the warmth I had craved.

"Hello, Mom. Dad," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, sit," Richard said, gesturing to a chair opposite them. I took my seat, feeling like a stranger in my own family.

There was an awkward silence as we began to eat, the clinking of cutlery the only sound. I picked at my food, my appetite nonexistent.