Victoria’s life had been meticulously scripted by her father, Edward. She was his princess, his masterpiece, and he expected perfection. The best grades, flawless performances at the piano, effortless grace on the ice rink. For the first decade of her life, she strove to be the daughter he demanded, her days a blur of lessons and practice, all for the reward of his approving smile.
But by fourteen, the gilded cage had begun to feel like a prison. She rebelled, running away from home with a group of equally restless teenagers, seeking the freedom and independence she craved. The fallout was immense. Edward, a powerful and well-connected lawyer, brought the full force of his influence down on the families of the other kids. The mess took months to clean up. In the aftermath, Victoria retreated into a sullen silence, her only remaining form of protest. The easy, adoring relationship she’d once had with her father was gone, replaced by a strained formality.
It was in this tense atmosphere that Edward decided it was time to script her love life. Their guests one evening were a prominent judge and his family, including their son, Ian, who was a year younger than Victoria. The setup was painfully obvious.
“Victoria, darling, why don’t you show Ian the house? The garden?” her mother, Catherine, suggested, her voice smooth as silk.
Ian, a handsome boy with a glint of mischief in his eyes, gallantly offered Victoria his arm. The moment the door closed behind them, he dropped the act.
“So, our parents are trying to arrange our marriage, I see,” he said with a sigh.
“Looks that way,” Victoria agreed. “I’ve been trying to figure out why they were so insistent on this visit.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Ian said, leaning against the porch railing, “but I’m into older women. And you, no offense, are not my type. You’re great, but my heart belongs to another.”
Victoria laughed, a genuine, relieved sound. “You won’t believe this, but I’m not into younger guys. And I’m in love with someone older than you, too. She has a kid, but my parents don’t know. My mom would lose her mind.”
“So what do we do?” Ian asked. “Maybe we pretend we’ve been swept up in a whirlwind romance? Come back in fifteen minutes holding hands and announce we’re having a baby?”
Victoria snorted. “No way. They’d force us to get married on the spot. Let’s just… feign a mild attraction. I’m a respectable young lady, after all. I need time to get to know you, to understand your inner world.”
“Deal,” Ian said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your number, ‘fiancée.’ We’ll have to text to keep up the charade.”
Their fake courtship, born of mutual deception, blossomed into a real and profound friendship. To their parents, they were the perfect, budding couple. In private, they were each other’s closest confidants, sharing secrets they could tell no one else.
Victoria’s mother, Catherine, was an enigma. In her youth, she had been a talented artist, but now her beautiful paintings, dated fifteen years prior, were the only evidence of that life. She had become the perfect hostess, the perfect wife, her days a blur of gardening, decorating, and creating elaborate meals. She was a master of surfaces, her own emotions always kept under a cool, polished veneer.
The rumors started when Victoria began working as a summer intern at her father’s law firm. She was the boss’s daughter, and people talked. They told her about her father’s relationship with Irina Ivanova, a stunning and brilliant lawyer from another firm. They whispered that Irina wasn’t the first. Victoria started noticing that her father’s “business trips” always coincided with Irina’s.
One evening, Victoria decided to probe her mother. “Mom,” she began, “betrayal… can you ever forgive it?”
Catherine paused her work in the kitchen, her back to Victoria. “No,” she said, her voice flat. “You never forgive infidelity. Not if you truly love the person. You just… eventually, you stop loving them. And then it’s not a betrayal anymore. It’s just a fact of your life. Something that no longer has the power to hurt you.”
The coldness in her mother’s voice was more revealing than any confession. She knew. She had known for years.
That June, a young cadet from a military academy, Alex, came to the firm with a small inheritance case. Victoria was assigned to help him. The legal work was simple, but the connection between them was immediate and electric. He was earnest, handsome, and looked at her as if she were the only person in the world.
After his final exam, he was waiting for her outside the university with a huge bouquet of roses. “Our class graduates soon,” he said, his eyes shining. “Will you come with me, wherever they assign me?”
It was a whirlwind. Victoria was swept up in a love so intense it felt like the only real thing in her carefully constructed life. For the first time, she felt seen, not as Edward’s perfect daughter, but as herself. In a moment of passion and recklessness, she gave herself to him completely.
After her own exams, she left for a planned university trip to the coast. Alex promised to write, to call. The first week was filled with breathless phone calls and promises. Then, one afternoon, as she was walking back from the beach with her friends, her phone rang.
“Tori,” Alex’s voice was strained. “I have to tell you something.”
“We won! We won the student competition!” she bubbled, not hearing the tension in his voice.
“Tori, listen to me. I’m sorry. We have to break up.”
The world went silent. “What? Why?”
“I can’t tell you right now. It’s just… it’s very serious. Please, just believe me.”
“Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But I’m leaving, Tori. We won’t see each other again.” The line went dead.
Returning from the trip, she felt a strange, persistent nausea. Two pink lines on a pregnancy test confirmed her worst fears. The only people she told were her friend Leah and her “fake boyfriend,” Ian.
“My wise grandmother used to say,” Ian told her over the phone, his voice gentle, “a man is like snow. He falls, and then he melts away. But your child, my dear, your child is forever. You should have the baby.”
Then, in August, a call came from an unknown number. It was Alex.
“How are you, Tori?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Tori… I got married.”
The air left her lungs. “Congratulations.”
“She was pregnant,” he rushed to explain. “You understand, right? It’s a responsibility. When you have a son or daughter, you’ll understand how important that is. But she’s… she’s not like you, Tori. She’s just a… a housewife. I miss you so much. I’m in town. Can we meet?”
“Goodbye, Alex,” she said, and blocked his number.
“Dad, did you cheat on Mom?”
The question dropped into the quiet of her father’s car like a stone. They were driving home from the mechanic; her own car, a gift from him, had been in a fender bender.
He glanced at her, his face a mask of surprise, then turned back to the road. He was silent for a long moment. “Never,” he said, his voice too firm. “That’s all just nonsense.”
It was a lie. She could feel it in the tense set of his jaw, in the way he gripped the steering wheel. For months, she had held onto this knowledge, this ugly secret that re-contextualized her entire childhood. Her perfect, demanding, infallible father was a fraud. And now, she had her own secret.
The car pulled up to their gate. He was about to get out, but she stopped him.
“Dad,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. “I’m pregnant. It’s not Ian’s. And the man whose it is… we broke up. He’s a traitor. He was cheating on his fiancée, and he was planning on cheating on his wife. I hate traitors.”
The gate had long since opened, but her father didn’t move. He sat frozen, staring straight ahead. His face turned a sickly grey, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Victoria suddenly regretted her words. It looked as if he were having a heart attack. He slowly, mechanically, opened his car door and walked into the house without a word.
He didn’t emerge from his room for the rest of the day. Her mother, Catherine, grew worried. “He won’t eat anything. He seems so ill.”
Victoria knew she had to tell her. “Mom, remember how you said you can only forgive betrayal if you don’t really love the person? I think it’s the opposite. I think you only forgive it if you love someone so much you can’t imagine life without them. You close your eyes to the lies, just to keep them near. Right, Mom?”
Catherine slowly sat down, her hands resting on the table. “You know about your father.” It wasn’t a question. “I found out a long time ago. At first, I screamed, I cried, I even hired a private investigator. And then I realized I was only torturing myself. I can’t live without him, Victoria. My whole life is him. And you.” She laid her head on her arms and, for the first time in years, Victoria saw her mother weep.
To distract her, to comfort her, Victoria told her own secret. “Mom… you’re going to be a grandmother.”
Catherine’s head snapped up, her wet eyes wide. “Are you serious?” The tears of grief were instantly replaced by a flurry of grandmotherly concern. “Are you feeling alright? We need to get you to a doctor. You need vitamins, fruit, fresh meat…” She had forgotten all about her own sorrow.
The next morning, Edward emerged from his bedroom, his face swollen and grim. “Get ready,” he commanded. “We’re going to the clinic. We are ending this.”
The argument that erupted was the most violent Victoria had ever witnessed. Her mother, the quiet, stoic Catherine, transformed into a lioness. She screamed, she raged, she brought up years of his infidelity, his hypocrisy, his cruelty.
“You will not do this!” Catherine shrieked. “You will not control her life, not anymore! You lost that right when you decided to live a lie!”
Edward, stunned by her ferocity, stormed out of the house. Catherine turned to Victoria. “Pack your things,” she said, her voice calm now, but resolute. “We’re leaving.”
They moved into a three-bedroom apartment the family owned, a place that had sat empty for years. Catherine was a different woman. She started painting again, her canvases exploding with color and life. Victoria enrolled in pre-natal classes. Ian visited often, bringing groceries and cracking jokes, a steady, comforting presence in their new, uncertain life.
One evening, Victoria came home to a sound she hadn’t heard in months: the key turning in the lock. The door opened. It was her father. He looked ten years older, unshaven, his expensive suit rumpled.
He stood in the doorway, just looking at her. She couldn’t read his expression. Was he here to continue the fight? To demand she return to the script? He simply held out his arms.
And Victoria, without a second thought, ran into his embrace.
“Dad,” she sobbed.
“I can’t do it without you, my princess,” he whispered into her hair. “Without you, without your mother… I have nothing.” He held her tight. “I ended it. All of it. I begged your mother for forgiveness. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want my family back.”
In his arms, she felt the familiar sense of protection she had craved her whole life. The anger, the resentment, it all just melted away. He was flawed, he was a hypocrite, he had hurt them all deeply. But he was her father. And she loved him.
The human soul is never so strong, she thought, as when it has learned to forgive.