The discovery that her father was you only made Melissa even more curious. The trip had been long and exhausting, all the way to another city, and her heart hadn’t stopped racing with every step closer to that door. Now, standing right in front of it, Melissa felt torn: part of her wanted to knock immediately, to finally meet the man she had imagined so many times; the other part was afraid — afraid of being a burden, of being rejected, of hearing that she wasn’t welcome.
Her mother’s words still echoed in her mind, serving as her only comfort:
"I’ll try to talk to him..."
Melissa clung to that sentence, as if it was the only certainty in the whirlwind of emotions. At least you wouldn’t be completely caught off guard. Even so, her hands were clammy, and she gripped the hem of her favorite hoodie as if it were an anchor keeping her from falling apart. Time seemed to drag endlessly, every second heavier than the last.
But then, before she could gather the courage to knock, the door opened on its own. Melissa swallowed hard, her eyes widening as she finally saw him: the man she had dreamed of meeting all her life, the father absent from all her memories, yet present in all her questions. Reality was far more overwhelming than anything she had imagined.
The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. Melissa tried to open her mouth, to force out a simple greeting, maybe a casual “hi”... but her voice faltered. The words stuck in her throat, leaving only a nervous, hesitant smile on her lips. Her eyes searched his, anxious and unsure, almost begging for him to say the first word.
