Broken

Chapter 13: Talking to ghosts

The drive to the airport is quiet, her thoughts consumed by the task ahead. Arriving at the private terminal, she's greeted by her staff and escorted to her private jet. The sleek aircraft stands ready, a symbol of her power and success. As she steps inside, the flight attendant offers her a glass of champagne, a customary gesture for the wealthy and powerful.

Fatima shakes her head, declining the drink. "No, thank you," she says, her voice tinged with an edge of tension. She settles into one of the luxurious seats, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. Her mind is too preoccupied to indulge in the usual comforts. The thought of facing her father stirs a mixture of anger and anxiety within her, emotions she rarely allows herself to feel.

As the jet takes off, Fatima gazes out of the window, the city below growing smaller and smaller. The journey ahead feels like a descent into a storm, one she knows she must weather. The memory of her father's manipulative ways lingers in her mind, fueling her resolve. She tightens her grip on the armrest, her jaw set in determination.

She knows this encounter won't be easy, but it's necessary. The thought of her father, with all his secrets and the power he holds over her, makes her blood boil. Yet, beneath the anger, there's a flicker of something else—a desire to finally confront the past and take control of her future.

As the plane continues its ascent, Fatima takes a deep breath, steadying herself for the confrontation ahead. This trip isn't just about facing her father; it's about reclaiming her power and breaking free from the shadows of her past. And for that, she's willing to face whatever comes her way.
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Fatima's arrival at her holiday house is marked by the hum of the jet engines winding down. She steps off the plane and into a waiting car, her expression set and determined. The drive to the secluded property takes less than ten minutes, a testament to the urgency of her visit. As they approach, the sprawling estate comes into view, surrounded by lush greenery and exuding an air of both tranquility and isolation.

Upon arrival, the car pulls up to the front entrance, and Fatima steps out, greeted by Jose, who nods respectfully. "Ms. Wilson," he acknowledges, sensing the gravity of the situation. She offers him a tight smile, barely concealing the storm brewing inside her.

"Jose," she responds, her voice clipped. Without another word, she strides past him and through the grand foyer, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors. The house feels eerily silent, the kind of quiet that amplifies every sound. She takes a steadying breath, preparing herself for the encounter.

Pushing open the large doors that lead to the backyard, Fatima steps out into the warm sunlight. The serene setting contrasts sharply with the tension coursing through her veins. Her eyes scan the garden until they land on her father, Denzel, sitting comfortably on a bench, surrounded by stray cats. His demeanor is calm, almost serene, as he tosses small pieces of bread to the animals gathered at his feet.

Without turning his head, he acknowledges her presence. "Daughter," he greets, his voice smooth and nonchalant, as if their strained relationship were a distant memory.

"Denzel," Fatima replies, her voice cold and devoid of warmth. She stands a few feet away from him, her arms crossed over her chest, a defensive posture she unconsciously adopts whenever he's near. The air between them feels charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved issues.

Denzel finally looks up, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "It's been a while," he says, his eyes locking onto hers. "You've been keeping busy, I see."

Fatima narrows her eyes, refusing to be drawn into his casual banter. "Cut the crap, Denzel," she snaps, her tone icy. "Why are you here?"

Denzel leans back on the bench, seemingly unbothered by her hostility. "Is that any way to greet your father?" he asks, feigning a hurt expression. "After all, I did bring you into this world."