Arlene

"Ar... Arlene, is that you?"

My father’s voice pulled my gaze away from my stepmother, who still hadn’t found her voice.

He stared at me in disbelief, and I couldn’t hold back. I rushed into his arms. The crowd remained frozen in shock, and the press wasted no time, capturing pictures and videos.

Flashes from cameras bombarded me like relentless waves, but I didn’t care. The familiar scent of my father’s cologne enveloped me—an aroma I could never forget, even during my time in Hawaii.

“Dad...” I whispered shakily as his arms coiled tightly around me, as if he feared I might vanish. “Dad...”

“Arlene, my baby,” his voice...