11!

MABEL

I made it to the street before the first sob broke free.

The doorman asked if I needed a cab, but I shook my head and walked. I didn't know where I was going. I just needed to move, to put distance between myself and that penthouse before I completely fell apart.

You're pretty. Are you a princess?

His voice replayed in my head, over and over. Sweet and innocent and completely unaware that he'd just shattered what was left of my carefully constructed armor.

I'd touched him. Just for a second, just his hair, but I'd touched my son.

After five years of nothing but photographs and fantasies and desperate prayers, I'd finally touched him.

My legs carried me into Central Park. I found a bench far from the main paths and collapsed onto it, pressing my hands over my mouth to muffle the sounds escaping my throat.

He was real.

God, he was so real.

The way he smiled. The gap between his front teeth. The excited way he talked about Spider-Man, words tumbling over each other. The trust in his eyes when he looked at me.

Princess Mabel.

I doubled over, arms wrapped around my stomach, and let myself break.

All the grief I'd been holding back for five years came pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs. I cried for the baby I'd lost.

I cried for the years I'd missed, first steps, first words, first everything. I cried for the little boy who called another woman "Mommy" and didn't know my name.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough that the sun shifted, casting different shadows across the path. Long enough that a jogger stopped to ask if I was okay, and I had to wave them away.

Eventually, the tears stopped. Not because the pain lessened, but because my body simply ran out.

I sat up, wiping my face with my sleeves. My makeup was ruined. My eyes were swollen. I probably looked like I'd been hit by a truck.

I needed to get back to the hotel. Pull myself together. Figure out my next move.

But as I stood, my phone buzzed in my purse.

I almost ignored it. But years of business instinct made me check.

The name on the screen made me freeze.

Andrew James.

My father.

I stared at his name, my thumb hovering over the screen. We hadn't spoken in over a year. Not since I'd called him on my birthday and he'd been too drunk to remember who I was.

The phone kept buzzing.

Against my better judgment, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Mabel." His voice was rough, scratchy. But sober. Definitely sober. "Thank God. I've been trying to reach you for two days."

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to process this. "Dad? What's wrong?"

"I need your help." He paused, and I heard him take a shaky breath. "It's Bella and Lily."

Bella and Lily. My half-sisters. The daughters from his second marriage.

I barely knew them. I'd met Bella exactly twice, once at their mother's wedding to my father when I was sixteen, and once at an awkward Christmas dinner three years ago. Lily I'd only seen in photos. She would be what, twelve now?

"What about them?" I asked carefully.

"Margaret left." Andrew's voice cracked. "Three years ago. Just... packed up and left. Didn't say where she was going. Didn't leave a note. Nothing."

I sank back onto the bench. "Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Bella's been taking care of Lily by herself. She's twenty-four, Mabel. She dropped out of college to raise her little sister. She works three jobs to keep them afloat."

Guilt twisted in my stomach, but I pushed it down. "That's terrible, but…"

"Lily has Type 1 diabetes," Andrew interrupted. "She needs insulin, regular doctor visits, and supplies. The medical bills are drowning them. Bella's doing everything she can, but it's not enough."

I closed my eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can't help them." His voice broke completely now. "I tried, Mabel. I got sober for six months. Got a job. Started sending them money. But then I..." He trailed off, and I knew exactly what he meant.

"You relapsed."

"Yeah." The word came out as a whisper. "I'm a mess. I know that. But they're not. They're good girls. They don't deserve this."

"What do you want from me, Dad?" My voice came out harder than I intended.

"I know I have no right to ask you for anything," Andrew said. "I know I was a terrible father. I know I let you down after your mother died. I know…"

"Then why are you calling?"

"Because Lily's sick." His voice cracked. "She collapsed at school last week. Her insulin pump malfunctioned. Bella took her to the emergency room, but they can't afford a new pump. It costs eight thousand dollars, Mabel. And without it..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

I sat there in silence, my mind spinning. I'd spent five years building a new life in LA, deliberately cutting myself off from my past, from my father, from everything that reminded me of who I used to be.

And now he was asking me to step back into it.

"Mabel?" Andrew's voice was desperate now. "Please. I know you're successful. I've seen the magazines. I know you work with celebrities. I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for them. They're your sisters."

"Half-sisters," I corrected automatically. "And I don't even know them."

"That's my fault," Andrew admitted. "After your mother died, I... I couldn't handle it. So I ran. Started over with Margaret. Had two more daughters thinking maybe I could get it right this time. But I didn't. I failed them just like I failed you."

I wanted to hang up. Wanted to block his number and pretend this conversation never happened.

But then I thought about Lily. A Twelve years old. Diabetic. Collapsing at school because she didn't have the medical equipment she needed to stay alive.

I thought about Bella. Twenty-four. Working three jobs. Raising her little sister alone because both her parents had abandoned her.

I thought about what it felt like to be helpless. To need something desperately and have no way to get it.

I knew that feeling intimately.

"Where are they?" I heard myself ask.

Andrew let out a breath that sounded like a sob. "Queens. I'll text you the address."

"I'm not promising anything," I said quickly. "I just... I'll meet them. That's all."

"Thank you," Andrew whispered. "Thank you, Mabel. I know I don't deserve…"

"You're right," I cut him off. "You don't."

I hung up before he could respond.

My phone buzzed again immediately, the address, just like he promised.

I stared at it, my emotions a tangled mess.

I'd come to New York for one reason: to find my son.

I didn't have time for family drama. I didn't have energy for my father's guilt or my half-sisters' problems.

But the address stayed on my screen, glowing in the afternoon light.

And deep down, I knew I was going to go.

Because unlike everyone else in my life, I couldn't walk away from someone who needed help.

Even if I wanted to.