A knock sounded on the door, and his head lifted sharply.
But it was only Serenity.
“Mr. Manolis, you have a visitor waiting for you at the drawing room in the north wing.”
****
His name was Roland. He was a famous avant-garde fashion designer, a flamboyant Frenchman who was as different as night and day when compared to his more staid lover, the late Giorgio Manolis.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Roland said.
Stavros only nodded. “Please sit down.” Although he recognized the other man by face, he had never met the man in person until now.
“I came here as soon as I found out about what Edith did.”
Stavros was nonplussed. “My mother’s done something again?”
Roland flushed. “To you, I’m afraid.” He took a deep breath. “She lied, Stavros. Giorgio made no such demands about barring you from his funeral.” Tears started running down the older man’s face, but he made no move to wipe them away. “He had long regretted his selfishness, his inability to be your father, but he had felt it was too late. All the years we were together, he had wanted to see you, but he was...too proud.”
Roland looked at him, and Stavros understood. Even as he reeled from the revelations, he managed to say, “Like father, like son.”
Roland smiled. “Yes.” He cried harder. “Yes. He loved you from afar, Stavros. He loved you with all his heart, and he was so proud of you.” He reached for the velvet box next to him and presented it to Stavros. “He wrote you letters every day. The therapist he was seeing told him it was to give him comfort but even if she hadn’t said it, I think he would have eventually done this.”
Stavros slowly reached for the box and as its weight rested on his hands, it was like shedding the burden of his past from his shoulders.
“I tried to get him to see you, but he said he was afraid he’d ruin your life again.” Roland stood up. “If you have any questions about your father, please just call me. I’ll be happy to share...” He choked. “He just loved you very much.”
For a long time, Stavros only sat there, unable to move. Fear locked him in place, a small part of him reverting back to the child that he had been. The knowledge that his parents were not what he thought them to be had almost killed him.
If this was all an elaborate plank, he didn’t think he would ever be the same again.
More moments passed until he finally made himself move. He opened the box and dozens of letters tumbled out.
He reached for the one on the top.
Dear Stavros,
I know this letter will take you by surprise, but I cannot keep silent any longer. Every day I wake up with regret, wishing I could turn back time so I could be the father you deserve to have.
Dear Stavros,
Congratulations on your acquisition of the Dutch bank. That was a huge coup and you wouldn’t know it, but I threw a party in your honor.
Dear Stavros,
I heard that your mother has been bothering you. She is an unhappy woman and you must not pay attention to her. Do not let her drag you down. You are our greatest miracle...
Dear Stavros,
Are the rumors true? You are seeing your own secretary? I confess to being shocked when I learned what kind of woman she was. And no, I am not being a snob about it. I am not talking about her background. Rather, I am talking about her personality. She is rather outspoken, your opposite, don’t you think? But I think she will do you good. I truly believe that. She will help you unbend and perhaps teach you a thing or two about trust and love – lessons that I know your mother and I have failed to teach you by example.
Dear Stavros,
I’ve been writing to you more than once a day now. Forgive me. I know my time is near and I want to write as many things as I can remember while I am still able to. I have a feeling that you’ll soon have your own child, and I’d like to impart a few lessons about child-rearing that I learned on my own.
I wasn’t a perfect father and I will never have a chance to be. I always put my own needs first, and in that aspect I do not think I have changed enough. But Stavros, I never wished you gone from my life. I never wished you to be hurt.
The letters seemed endless, but for Stavros they weren’t enough. He read them all and finished well into morning the next day. The bitterness that had long festered inside him, shadows of the past that haunted his every step – they had gradually disappeared with every letter he read until the world that had once been so black and white became gray.
So many questions still unanswered, but this time they were not the questions that would make him keep hating himself.
His mind drifted to Edith, and for once in his life, there was not the smallest amount of resentment or pain that lingered inside him. The life that she led now was already his mother’s punishment, and it would be empty until the day she died.