1. Begging for scraps

ELAINE

"I'm sorry but Mr Davis can't see you right now." The butler announced, staring over my head. I watched the butler's stoic expression and could see a small glimmer of pity he had for me. As expected after all this was the tenth time he was sending me away. 

Every day for the past ten days I've come to the Davis mansion seeking help. 

It doesn't matter how much I prepared myself for this meeting, I'm never ready to have my hopes dashed like this. 

How can a man be so cruel to his daughter? The 'blood is thicker than water' sentiment truly holds no value when it comes to Mr Davis. It's been 21 years already. 

"Did you tell him?" I whisper numbly, clutching the front of my black dress which I had managed to buy to look presentable for this meeting and the butler nodded in response. 

"You told him that this is his last hope to see her?" I needed confirmation because it just seemed so cruel. 

My Grandfather had disowned my mother for falling in love and running away with a 'British rat' as he liked to call my father and they have not seen or spoken since then. But that was twenty-one years ago, and my mom was on her deathbed and she had no greater wish than to seek his forgiveness before she passed on. She had been diagnosed with a rare form of inoperable brain tumor that has been killing her gradually over the last year. 

I sat back down in shock then sprang to my feet and raced towards the stairs past the butler in the direction that he had just come from. My quick movements caught the old man by surprise and I was halfway up the stairs before he followed after me. "Excuse me miss, you can't go up there." 

I tried to open the first door but it wouldn't budge and I moved quickly to the next. "Mr Davis, I need just a few minutes of your time," I scream racing down the magnificent hallway like I was possessed trying every door handle till one finally swung open. 

Pictures didn't do the person sitting behind the huge mahogany desk. He was way more intimidating in real life and older. He had on a white shirt with a brown sweater and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His mouth was drawn into a thin line in obvious displeasure and there were frown lines that marred his forehead. This is the aristocratic, wealthy, Constantine Davis. 

 The study had roof-to-floor shelves that housed tons of books that made my head spin at the sheer amount of it. Opposite it on the other side was a glass shelf that housed medals, achievement plaques, and some fine pottery collections. 

"What are you doing here?" His cold answer whipped me back to reality and I tried to control myself as much as I could. 

I took a step further into the room but the quick wave of his hand halted my movement. "I can hear you clearly from there." 

I swallowed hard, feeling all the bravery seep out of me at his coldness. 

"My name is Elaine Thompson," I begin but he cuts me off again, "I know who you are." 

"My mother, your daughter is dying. She wants to see you before she does." I go straight to the point but my request doesn't evoke the emotions I expect. 

Instead of shock and disbelief or worry for his offspring, all I get is a sarcastic chuckle, "I don't have any daughter. Your mother made her bed, so she should choose to lie in it." 

His answer was so flippant that I stood shell-shocked, rooted to the spot. 

"Why does she want to see me? She wants money right? Like she has in all those letters and emails she has sent to me over the years. She would have lived a better life if she didn't marry that riff-raff, but now she wants even more money so she sends you to concoct a lie." With every word that slipped out of his lips so did my shock, anger, and pain grow. 

"How can you still hate your flesh and blood so much for what happened twenty-one years ago? Her only crime was to fall in love." 

He began shuffling around some papers before asking, "How much do you need? That is why you're here right? The last time your mother was here it was for the same reason also. So tell me how much do you need, that will make you stop being a nuisance around me and on my premises." 

He waited for my answer but I couldn't bring myself to say a word.

"Will 100 thousand dollars be enough to cover the cost and make sure I don't see you for another ten years at least?" 

 In all my life, I've never felt so humiliated. He scribbled on his checkbook and tore out a sheet before flinging it to the floor and getting to his feet. 

He walked past me, his cane hitting the floor in carefully measured strides, leaving me and the butler in the room. 

My vision blurred with tears as I bent low to pick up the cheque that he signed. I couldn't help digging my nails into the flesh of my palm to control myself from crying or turning into an emotional mess here. 

He didn't deserve to see me cry. I bent low to pick up the little piece of paper in my tote bag and got up to my feet feeling the cheap heels I got pinch into my feet. I smoothed my dress down and pushed my Chestnut brown hair away from my face and took large gulps of air. 

This is the very last time I will ever beg for his mercy. All my mother wanted was a chance for recognition and he had treated her with disdain. I will never beg for his mercy ever again.