Honeyed Lies

THE JOURNEY HOME

Amelia didn't remember ending the call that evening. One moment, she was standing in the middle of her apartment with the phone pressed against her ear. The next, she found herself sitting on the cold wooden floor, staring blankly at the wall as the words kept echoing through her mind. "Your father was murdered."

No. There had to be a mistake. Her father had called her just a few hours ago. He even sent her a text. He couldn't be gone. Her trembling fingers reached for her phone as she opened their last conversation, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes.

Dad: I know you don't want to talk to me right now, but I hope you are taking care of yourself. I love you, Amelia. Call me when you're ready.

She read the message once, then again. Guilt flooded her heart as she read the message for the third time. For five years, she had ignored almost every call, every text, every attempt he made to reach out to her. She had convinced herself that she had all the time in the world. Time to forgive him, time to go home, time to tell him how much he had hurt her and how much she missed him. Now, that time had run out. A broken sob escaped her lips as she clutched the phone to her chest. "I'm sorry..." she whispered into the empty apartment. "I'm so sorry, Dad."

The silence answered her.

---

That night, Amelia couldn't sleep. She was restless. Feelings of regret kept flooding in as she laid down. She slept off on the cold wooden floor with her phone clutched tightly to her chest.

By dawn, Amelia had her single suitcase packed. Still, everything felt so unreal. She booked the first flight to California without thinking twice. Her best friend, Claire, insisted on driving her to the airport. Neither of them spoke for most of the journey. Claire finally reached across the center console and squeezed Amelia's hand. "You don't have to be strong today, you know that right?"

Amelia stared out the window. "I wasn't there."

Claire frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He kept calling me." Amelia's voice cracked. "He kept trying, he reached out so many times... and I just kept pushing him away."

Claire didn't know what to say. There were no comforting words for a regret that deep. When they reached the airport, Claire pulled Amelia into a tight hug.

"Whatever happens when you get there," she whispered, "don't carry all the blame by yourself."

Amelia nodded, though she wasn't sure she believed it.

---

The flight to California felt endless. She rested her forehead against the window as clouds stretched beneath the plane. A memory drifted into her mind. She was eight years old, sitting on her father's shoulders at the beach.

"Hold on tight, Princess," he laughed.

"I'm not scared!"

"Good," he had replied. "Because as long as I'm here, nothing will ever hurt you."

A tear rolled down Amelia's cheek. All the promises. Life just had a cruel way of breaking them.

---

When the plane landed in California, a black luxury sedan was already waiting. The driver stepped out and bowed respectfully.

"Miss Hart."

Amelia recognized him immediately. "Mr. Lewis."

He had worked for her father for nearly twenty years. His eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept well.

"I'm... sorry for your loss, Miss."

She gave a small nod before stepping into the car. The drive to the Hart estate felt so painfully familiar. Every street in the neighborhood carried memories, memories of the love she shared with her father. The café where her father bought her hot chocolate after school, the park where he taught her to ride a bicycle and even the bookstore where he let her buy more novels than she could possibly read. Every single memory she had spent years trying to forget. Now every memory came rushing back.

---

The towering gates of the Hart mansion slowly opened. The house looked exactly as she remembered. Elegant, grand and beautiful. Yet today it felt so empty. She noticed the rows of expensive cars that filled the driveway as they drove in. Men and women dressed in black stood quietly outside, speaking in hushed voices. As Amelia stepped out of the car, every conversation seemed to stop. People turned to look at her. Alexander Hart's only daughter had finally returned home, but not to reconcile, not to forgive. She had returned for his funeral. Her legs suddenly felt heavy. Each step toward the front door became harder than the last. The familiar scent of fresh lilies filled the air. She had grown to hate lilies because her mother had loved them. Inside the mansion, the atmosphere felt so suffocating. Employees she had known since her childhood lowered their heads respectfully as she walked in.Some quietly wiped tears from their faces. Then she saw her. Mrs Victoria Hart. Her very own stepmother. The woman Amelia had blamed all her life for destroying her family. Victoria looked older than Amelia had remembered. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and the moment she saw Amelia, fresh tears escaped.

"Amelia..."

She took a hesitant step forward. "I am so—"

"Don't." Amelia's voice was calm but painfully cold.

Victoria froze.

"I didn't come here for you.”

Without waiting for another response, Amelia walked past her towards the room where everyone was gathered. Towards the polished mahogany casket at the center of the room. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she approached the casket. No… This couldn't be real. She kept saying to herself. But then she saw him. Alexander Hart. The strongest man she had ever known. The man who always looked invincible now lies perfectly still. His face was peaceful, too peaceful. As though he were only asleep. Amelia reached out with trembling fingers, gently touching the edge of the casket.

"Dad..."

The single word broke something inside her. All the years of anger, pride and silence. They all crumbled at once. She fell to her knees beside the casket, tears streaming freely down her face.

"I'm here," she cried softly. "I'm here... but I'm too late."

The room remained silent as everyone watched the daughter who had finally come home—only after death had stolen her chance to say goodbye.