Roselle lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, her mind tangled in memories. The weight of her decision to forgive her father clashed with the resentment still brewing inside her. She wanted to believe he had changed, but years of pain were not so easily erased. Hugging her panda plushie tighter, she tried to silence the voices of doubt.
Meanwhile, in the dim-lit room he had been given, her father, Faizal, sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans. The house still smelled the same—faint traces of jasmine and old wooden furniture. But it no longer felt like home. The drawings on the walls—childhood scribbles, family moments, remnants of a love long lost—were reminders of what he had destroyed.
Guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.
A knock at the door startled him. When he opened it, Roselle stood there, her arms crossed. "Dad, I just wanted to say… if you're really back for good, I hope you mean it. I don't want false hopes."
His throat tightened, but he nodded. "I do mean it, Roselle. I really do…"
Her cold glare made his breath hitch. Then, to his shock, her expression wavered. A flicker of hesitation, of something raw and fragile. Slowly, tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. He turned his gaze downward, ashamed to meet his daughter’s stare.
Roselle stiffened. She had never seen her father cry before. The doubts that had gathered in her mind loosened ever so slightly, but fear held them in place. Was this real?
Faizal clenched his jaw. "Roselle, I know you're still in pain. I know forgiving me is impossible, but—"
Before he could finish, Roselle stepped forward and hugged him, her arms wrapping around him with a quiet desperation. A soft sob escaped her lips, muffled against his shoulder.
Faizal froze. Then, slowly, his arms enveloped her, holding her as though afraid she might slip away. Silence filled the room, save for Roselle’s quiet cries. He had no words, no justifications—only the weight of the moment between them. He wished he could take away her pain, but all he could do was hold her, hoping that, for now, it was enough.
---
Morning came with an unsettling stillness. As Roselle descended the stairs, her feet dragged, heavy with the lingering emotions from the night before. Halfway down, she stopped short.
Her grandparents sat in the living room, her father seated across from them. The air was thick with tension.
"I'm only letting you stay here because Roselle wished for it," her grandfather said, his voice firm. Yet, beneath his hardened tone, there was something else—a quiet ache, a longing to understand his son.
Imran’s mother, ever soft-spoken, exhaled a trembling sigh. "Faizal, darling, I gave birth to you. To be enemies with you was never my intention. But the things you've done… they broke us into pieces."
Roselle gripped the railing, her heart pounding. She hated this. She hated the air of uncertainty, the cracks in their family that no words could mend. But she couldn't bring herself to step in.
A sudden knock at the door made everyone pause. Roselle, grateful for the distraction, hurried down the steps to answer it. As the door swung open, confusion flickered across her face at the sight of the two strangers standing before her.
"I'm sorry, who are you..?"
Before she could react, the woman stepped forward and embraced her. Roselle's muscles tensed, her hands pressing against the woman’s arms to push her away—until a familiar scent washed over her. A scent from a distant memory, buried yet never forgotten.
"Roselle, you've grown so much. The last time I saw you, you were only two months old. I was visiting here. After that, I could only see you through video calls from Malaysia. You've grown into such a beauty..."
Roselle’s breath hitched. Recognition dawned slowly. Her mother had spoken of them often—stories of warmth, of a loving home. These were her maternal grandparents.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Come in... I'll prepare some tea."
Stepping aside, she let them enter. Faizal remained silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His heart pounded as he silently willed them not to notice him.
The moment was short-lived.
A sudden thump shook the room as Uncle Ali slammed his palm against the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Startled, Roselle dropped the spoon she was holding in the kitchen. Her mind raced. What was happening?
---
In the living room, Uncle Ali’s voice shook with rage. "My daughter, my beloved Katelyn… she died because of your mistake! The worst part is, I never even knew she was gone until two weeks ago!"
Faizal’s stomach twisted. He had feared this moment. After his arrest, no one had been able to reach Katelyn’s parents. Even after his release, he never found the courage to call them. But now, faced with his past, there was nowhere left to hide.
"I don't have the energy to fight... I just want to know, why?" Uncle Ali’s voice cracked. "Why did you kill my Katelyn..? If I hadn't called your parents, I would have never found out she had died. All these years, I thought she had abandoned us, that she wanted nothing to do with us. But no... she was gone. And you kept it from us. Nineteen years."
His wife clutched his arm, her silent weeping cutting through the room like a knife. Their pain was unbearable, a grief that had been forced to sleep for years, only to be awoken by betrayal.
Roselle stepped into the room, carrying a tray of tea with trembling hands. She set the cups down and excused herself, retreating to her bedroom. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She wanted to call Hakeem—to find solace in his voice. But he was far away, studying in Sydney. Their last meeting had been brief, only for their engagement, before he had left again.
She curled up on her bed, her mind a whirlwind. Her mother’s death had been hidden for nineteen years from her grandparents. So all these times, they never knew..?
---
Back in the living room, Faizal’s parents sat stiffly, their faces pale with shame.
"We are deeply sorry," his mother whispered. "Nothing we say can undo the past, but please believe us when we say we never wanted this."
Uncle Ali exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "It's all in the past... Katelyn is gone. As angry as I am, I still respect you as my son-in-law, Imran. But you had a choice. You could have controlled your anger."
His wife, voice barely above a whisper, added, "I, too, am devastated by what you did to my daughter. But seeing you here, trying to make amends, being a father to Roselle... I can only weep in silence."
Faizal clenched his fists. The weight of his sins was suffocating. There was no escape from the consequences of his actions.
All he could do now was bear them.