The Will

Arrivals III

Ayla POV - Arrivals III

By the time I turned onto the long gravel drive leading to Ashwood Estate, my palms were slick against the steering wheel.

I had changed outfits three times before settling on the blue dress I'd worn to my high school graduation.

It fit a little tighter now than it had at eighteen, and the fabric had started to thin near the hem, but it was the nicest thing I owned.

Before leaving the apartment, I had spent ten minutes polishing my black Mary Janes until I could see my reflection in the leather.

Mom had noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

"You look beautiful, habibti," she told me right before I left.

I smiled at the memory as I drove beneath the wrought-iron gates.

Beautiful.

The word itself felt fragile.

Like something that might break if I held it too tightly.

The estate unfolded before me in slow, impossible pieces.

Acres of perfectly manicured lawns, ancient oak trees stretching over the drive, gardens exploding with late-summer color, a private lake glittering through gaps in the trees.

And then the mansion itself.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

It rose from the hill like something out of a novel. Three stories high, with tall windows that caught the evening light and turned gold.

I had seen photographs online. Hundreds of them. None had prepared me for the reality.

This wasn't a house.

It was security.

It was college tuition and retirement funds and never having to check your bank account before buying groceries.

It was what my mother and I could have had instead of clipping coupons at the kitchen table.

Instead of her working double shifts. Instead of me picking up extra hours at the bookstore to help cover rent.

A sharp ache settled behind my ribs.

My entire life fit inside a two-bedroom apartment above a laundromat. All the while, my father lived here.

The thought landed differently now.

Not as anger. Not yet, anyway. Mostly grief. Grief for things I had never allowed myself to imagine.

Family vacations, birthday parties, a father teaching me to drive, someone in the audience of my school plays or softball games.

Small things. Ordinary things. The kinds of things people only realized were extraordinary when they never had them.

I parked my used Corolla beside a black electric sedan and shut off the engine.

For a moment, I just sat there.

Twenty-three years.

Twenty-three years of wondering whether Keenan Ashwood knew I existed.

Whether he ever thought about me.

Whether I had inherited my eyes from him.

Whether he liked coffee black or with sugar and milk.

Whether he laughed loudly or quietly.

Whether he ever regretted leaving.

The letter in my purse felt suddenly heavy.

You are hereby summoned to Ashwood Estate.

No explanation, no apology.

Just an invitation. Still, it was something. More than I'd ever had before.

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror.

Long brown hair pulled back into a braid.

A nervous smile.

Dark eyes with flecks of gold that only appeared when the light hit them just right.

The eyes my mother always said weren't hers.

I stepped out of the car.

Two men stood near the front steps.

One wore an expensive suit and looked perfectly at ease.

The other was emptying a watering can and had on dirt-stained blue jeans.

The contrast between them was so stark it almost felt intentional.

Neither of them looked old enough to be my father.

I smoothed my dress, adjusted the strap of my purse, and started toward the house. Toward answers. Toward the man I'd spent my entire life hoping to meet.