Lost Dream Reclaimed

Blood Ties

“There was blood on my hand, but it wasn’t mine.” The sight was jarring. I headed to the bathroom, searching frantically for any wounds, but my skin was unbroken. Whose blood was this? The question gnawed at me as I washed my hands, watching the crimson swirl down the drain.

My phone rang, breaking my reverie. It was my father. "Hey, Turner, how are you? Is everything okay at work?" he asked, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of concern.

"Everything's fine, Dad," I replied, trying to shake off the unease. His call was a welcome distraction. He called often, always supportive, reminding me that he believed in my dream of becoming a supermodel. Today, he had exciting news: he had bought an application form for one of the biggest modeling agencies. My heart soared with joy.

"Thank you, Dad! This means so much to me," I said, my voice brimming with gratitude.

After we hung up, I returned to my duties with a renewed sense of purpose. A customer noticed my uplifted mood. "You look so happy and beautiful, young lady," they remarked.

"Thank you! Enjoy your meal, and we hope to see you again," I replied, barely containing my excitement. The rest of my shift flew by, and I couldn’t wait to get home and hug my father.

When I walked through the door, I found him in the living room. I rushed to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. That’s when I noticed the bruises on his neck. "Dad, what happened to you?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

"It's nothing, Turner. Just a minor injury," he said, his tone dismissive. But his eyes couldn’t hide the truth.

"Please, Dad, don’t involve yourself in anything dangerous. Our leaders don’t care about us," I pleaded.

My mother entered the room, her expression unreadable. "He'll be fine. It's nothing serious," she interjected, clearly trying to downplay the situation.

I picked up the modeling form from the table and headed to my room, trying to shake off my worry. My sister joined me, and we filled out the form together, dreaming about what the future in the modeling industry might hold. I fantasized until I fell asleep, my mind filled with glamorous possibilities.

The next morning, I woke up with a bright smile and got ready for school. My father dropped me off as usual. At school, I headed to my locker, excited to see my best friend Clara back. I couldn’t wait to share my good news with her. "Let's go for lunch," I suggested when it was time.

On our way to the cafeteria, Clara excused herself to go to the restroom. Inside, she overheard Brandon on a phone call. "Why are you calling me at this time? Don’t you know that I am in school?" he said angrily. "Did you get the documents and the USB footage? No, you only beat him but couldn’t obtain the evidence? What did you get paid for?" He hung up, seething. Clara, hidden in a stall, was stunned by what she had heard.

When she rejoined me, I was bubbling with excitement. "Clara, I can finally start my modeling career now, thanks to my father," I said.

"Congratulations, Turner! I’m so happy for you," she responded, though her mind was still on Brandon's conversation.

"Thank you, but I’m worried about my dad. He had bruises all over his body, like someone had beaten him, but he wouldn’t tell me the truth. I think he’s involved in something dangerous," I confided.

Clara’s eyes widened. "What do you mean? Do you think it has anything to do with Brandon?" she asked, recalling the sinister phone call.

"I don’t know," I admitted, frustration bubbling up. "But I need to find out."

"I’ll help you," Clara promised. "We can figure this out together."

As we continued our lunch, Brandon approached our table, his presence making my heart race with fear. "Hi, Turner. How are you? And how is your favorite father?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"Why do you care about my father?" I shot back, my voice shaking with anger and fear. Clara looked between us, sensing the tension but keeping Brandon’s phone call to herself.

After school, I headed home, expecting to find my family, but the house was eerily empty. "Where is everyone?" I wondered aloud. As I changed out of my school clothes, my phone buzzed on the table. It was my mother, which was unusual. We hardly talked, especially after our last argument.

“Hello?”

“Turner, it’s your mother.”

“I know. What do you want?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but anxiety and curiosity tugged at me.

“Your father has been involved in an accident. A hit and run. He is in the hospital,” she said, her words sharp and devoid of emotion. The world seemed to tilt for a moment, the room spinning.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“A hit-and-run accident. The doctors are doing what they can,” she replied, as if reciting facts from a report.

“Is he going to be okay?” I felt a lump forming in my throat, momentarily forgetting the strained relationship with my mother.

“I don’t know. You should come to the hospital.” Her tone was impersonal, as if she were talking to a stranger.

I hesitated, memories of our past clashes flooding my mind. But this was my father we were talking about. “I will be there as soon as I can,” I said, my voice firmer now.

“Fine,” she replied, and the line went dead. I stood up, my mind racing. Despite the resentment and harsh words between my mother and me, my father was in trouble. I had to be there. Grabbing my bag, I rushed out the door, hoping that whatever awaited at the hospital, I could handle it.

The hospital was a whirlwind of white walls and antiseptic smells. I found my mother in the waiting room, her face a mask of stoicism. "How is he?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"They're still working on him," she replied, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Hours felt like days as we waited. Finally, a doctor emerged. "Your father is stable, but we need to keep him under observation," he said. Relief washed over me, but it was tinged with anxiety. Who had done this to my father? And why?

Back at home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Clara called to check on me. "Turner, I think I know who might be behind this," she said cautiously.

"Who?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"Brandon. I overheard him talking about some documents and a USB footage. He sounded dangerous," she explained.

I sat down, the pieces of the puzzle starting to come together. Could Brandon really be involved in my father's accident? And if so, what was on that USB footage?

The next day at school, I confronted Brandon. "What do you know about my father's accident?" I demanded, my voice steady despite my fear.

Brandon smirked. "Why would I know anything about that?" he replied, his eyes cold.

"Don't play dumb. I know you're involved," I said, my anger flaring. He laughed, but it was a hollow sound.

"Watch your back, Turner," he said, walking away.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My father's life was hanging in the balance, and I was determined to uncover the truth. With Clara's help, I was going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took.