I left this morning like a coward, driving straight to San Diego. Tomorrow I would go apartment shopping, but today we checked into an extended stay hotel.

I handed Mónica a brand-new cell phone.

“Oh my god! Are you serious? Is this mine?”

“Yes, I have to go somewhere now. But I’ll be back in an hour. If there is an emergency, call me. I’ll just be down the road.”

“Okay. Where are you going?”

I didn’t want to tell her in case it didn’t happen.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay. Bye. Don’t worry. Ana María and I will be fine.”

I gave them both kisses and left the room. As I drove away from the hotel, my nerves rattled. I should’ve told Mónica where I was going, who I was going to see, and why this was so important to me. But I needed to see this stranger alone.

The stranger who was my father. 

I drove down the Coronado streets. San Diego was glorious, even better than in the pictures. I was so excited to live here, where I could drive to the ocean and dip my feet in the sand. No blistering summers to keep me indoors. 

I finally found an old Spanish house with a blue and gold sign out front.

Home of a Naval Aviator. 

John Emerson. 

A chill took over me. In my twenty years, I had dreamt of meeting my father. What would he look like, would we share any interests, was he quirky like me, did he love cooking?

But most important of all, would he accept me.

I checked the address from the background report. And then I checked it again. This was it. I was about to meet my father. 

I parked the car and could see the raised hair on my arms. Was he living alone? Was he married? Did he have kids?

It was now or never. I had to meet him. I had to go in.

I opened the car door and slowly walked outside. The salty ocean air hit my face. Twenty years of dreaming and wondering had come down to this. 

The Spanish style house had an arched doorway and talavera tiles lining the entrance. Adorned with a red clay roof and a turquoise frame around the windows. Did he ever look at his home and remember the poor Mexican girl he had left behind? 

My hand pressed the buzzer, and I pushed the nausea down my throat. 

I heard footsteps. But instead of a man greeting me at the door, a woman with brown hair in a crisp bob opened it. 

“May I help you?”

Ay. I couldn’t do this. What if she didn’t know? I had no right to break up his family by revealing his secrets. 

“Oh hi. I . . . I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house.”

I dashed down the steps and fumbled for the car keys. God, I had been so stupid. I had no right to meet him and demand answers. 

I finally opened the door and began to cry. I had chickened out. I wasn’t brave at all. And now I would never know my father. 

I turned the key in the ignition when I was startled by a rap at the door.

And there, standing outside my window, was my father 

I knew it the second I saw him; his green eyes were the same shade of mine and we had the same chin. 

He motioned for me to roll down the window, and I complied. 

“You must be Paloma. I had hoped you would find me.”

He recognized me?

“Wow, let me look at you. You are beautiful, just like your mother. Please come inside.”

I emerged from the car and he pulled me into a long embrace and just held me. Held me so close and I breathed him in. My father. How many nights had I cried dreaming of this moment. Even a grown woman sometimes needs her father to hug her. Especially, when she never had that closeness growing up.

My father led me into the house. “Jill, I’d like you to meet Paloma. My daughter.”

Jill’s lip quivered, and I didn’t know if she was horrified by my presence or thrilled. Our pause was awkward, but after a few minutes she pulled me in for my second hug of the day. 

“Nice to meet you dear, we have been waiting for you. I’m your step-mother.”

To hear this strange woman tell me she was my step-mother was almost too much to bear. My mom had warned me that his family would reject me, want nothing to do with me, just like Beck would. But so far, I was sensing this was exactly the opposite. 

My father sat on a chair across from a sofa. “Please sit down. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

That seemed like the understatement of the year. He turned to his wife. “Would you get us some tea?”

“Of course.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. 

The house smelled like roses. Though it wasn’t lavish by any means, I knew how expensive homes were in Coronado. I knew this home must be worth over two million dollars, a number that was mind boggling. 

“You knew about me? Why didn’t you find me?”

The creases on his eyes deepened and a pained look fell across his face. “I tried. God knows I tried. I came back to El Centro once I found out your mom was pregnant. Your mom demanded that I marry her. And I loved her, but I wasn’t ready to get married.” He looked toward the door and his expression became vacant. “My family kept telling me that marrying your mom would ruin my career. I didn’t listen to them. But then 9/11 happened and I was given orders to deploy. I was so overwhelmed with my career—I just needed time to sort everything out. I sent your mom money, but she wouldn’t let me see you.”

“I understand.” And I did. It was complicated. Probably how Beck felt about me before I dumped him.

“But I came back. You were almost two and I remember seeing you at the air show, my own eyes looking back at me. I had spent the next year deployed, and all I could think of over in Iraq was you and your mother. I vowed that if I made it out of the war alive, that I would marry your mom. But by then, it was too late. She wanted nothing to do with me. Wouldn’t let me see you. Wouldn’t see me. I proposed to her, offered to share custody, but she wouldn’t even let me see you. I should’ve fought harder, Paloma. I should’ve fought harder for you and for her. I sent money and cards for years, but she would send them back. After a few years, I gave up. I met Jill and we have been happily married, but we unfortunately weren’t blessed with children. I had always hoped that one day you would come back to me. That you would forgive me. And now you are here. You are like an answer to my prayers.”

I was legit speechless. Should I believe this man? Why on earth would my mom not take him back, and worse yet not let him see me? And why would she send back money when we were so poor. It was unfathomable to me. Was he lying?

“I don’t understand. You could’ve filed for custody. You could have supported me. We were so poor. I spent my entire childhood hungry. My only daily meal was free lunch. I had nothing, and you have everything. Why would she cut you out?”

Jill returned with the tea and a china plate filled with cucumber sandwiches. She had a kind face and blonde hair. She looked to be in her early forties. Had this man fought harder to see me, I could’ve lived with them. Maybe I would’ve had a close relationship with Jill. Maybe she would’ve braided my hair, cooked for me, taught me how to be a woman. 

Maybe she would’ve loved me. 

“I don't know. You will have to ask her. It never made any sense to me either. I knew she never forgave me for not marrying her when I found out she was pregnant. Maybe she was afraid I would take you away from her. And you know, that was probably a valid fear. Had I known everything you had just told me, I would’ve filed for custody.”

I exhaled and I felt as if this world was closing in on me. The information overload was too much. Had my mother truly loved me when I was a little girl? Done everything in her power to keep me close? And this man just admitted that her fear would’ve been founded. He would’ve taken me away. And I would’ve lived a privileged life. 

What happened to my mom? Why didn’t she want this man back? And when did she stop loving me?

“Did you really love her?”

“I loved her with every fiber in my body. She was beautiful of course, looked just like you. I met her when I went to eat in town. She sat across from me at the table and introduced herself.”

That definitely sounded like her. My mother had never been shy like me. “Go on.”

“Well, I was immediately taken in by her. She was so full of life and simple, and I don’t mean that in a condescending way. I’m from Connecticut and I was used to girls with money who always wanted to be pampered. My high school girlfriend had left me when I joined the Navy because she had wanted to be with a wealthy guy. So your mom was refreshing. She could have fun with a blanket and a picnic. She loved riding in my truck, stealing kisses in the moonlight. I fell deeply in love with her.”

I wanted to scream at him. Then why didn’t you marry her? And then I wanted to scream at my mom, why didn’t she take him back?

But unfortunately, I didn’t need to ask those questions. Because deep down, I knew the answers. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if you will let me, I’d like to have a relationship with you. We can take it slow. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for work?”

Ha. Was this man clueless? Maybe this was why my mom didn’t want him back. He would never understand the realities of my life, the realities of the poverty that I lived in. Did he really think a poor girl from El Centro could just get a job?

“I just moved here last week with my little sisters, Mónica and Ana María. Mónica is fourteen and Ana María is six. I was valedictorian of my high school class, but I didn’t go to college because someone had to take care of my sisters. My mom is a mess. She’s an alcoholic. Luckily, this year a Blue Angel hired me to be his nanny, his wife died. He paid me ten thousand dollars and I used the money to move out here. I plan to rent a small place for us in Chula Vista and I’m looking for work now.”

And there it was. My story. I left out the part where I fell madly in love with Beck, where he had fallen in love with me also, where he had begged me to move with him to Florida, where I had told him no and had broken his heart. Where I had left little baby Sky, an angel who loved me, an angel who relied on me. 

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. My mother had been right. I was just like her. 

If I believed this man, then she had rejected him, not because she didn’t love him, but out of fear. Fear that she wasn’t good enough, fear that he would never really love her, fear that she would never be accepted. 

And that fear had ruined her life.

And mine. 

¡Ay, Dios mío! What had I done?

Instead, she settled. Believing she only deserved a man like Mónica’s father, a drunk or even worse, Ana María's father, an abuser. 

And now, her life was a mess. She probably drank to forget the love of my father. 

And she had rejected him because she loved me. And now, she didn’t even have me. For her own daughter hated her. 

I sipped the tea and the jasmine calmed me down. For the first time in my life, I felt like I understood my mom. 

And maybe, I could even forgive her. 

“You live here now? Wow. That’s a blessing. Why don’t you bring your sisters over to Sunday dinner and we can get to know each other.”

“I’d like that.”

He gave me a tour of his beautiful home, and I pushed back a twinge of jealousy. This should be my home. I could’ve grown up here. 

I had to be certain he was my father. “Sir, do you mind if we take a DNA test? I brought a test. Just to know for sure.”

“Not at all. But Paloma, one look at you and I know you are my daughter. Here, let me show you something.”

He went into the house and then returned a few minutes later with a picture. The edges were frayed, and the picture looked yellow. But there was no mistaking the woman in the picture. It was my mother, her long dark hair flowing in the wind. But the oddest thing about the entire picture was that she looked just like me. 

We swabbed our cheeks and put the swabs into a plastic bag. I would mail it tomorrow. And then I would know for sure. 

We sat in the garden and discussed his long military career. He had been an Angel and then had flow fighter jets. They had lived all around the world and finally settled in Coronado. He had been stationed here for the last five years.

My father had lived two hours away from my house for the last five years and I didn't even know. 

“Paloma, may I ask you a question?”

I nodded, craving an intimate moment with my father. The kind of talk that I had always dreamt that fathers and daughters would have. 

“Did you date the pilot you were a nanny for?”

Another lump grew in my throat. “Yes. I did.”

He exhaled and it almost sounded like a gasp. “Then why aren’t you with him now?”

And then, I broke. “I don't know. I love him. He is a kind, great man His wife died in childbirth. And he loves me too. He asked me to move with him to Pensacola, but I told him no. I don’t even understand why I told him no. I love him. I’m just so scared. The pilots' wives I met were nice to me, but I always felt like they truly didn't like me. And his mom pretty much told me I would ruin his life. I just felt that at some point, he would leave me, and I would never be good enough. He was good to me and my sisters. And I love his daughter like my own. I’m an awful person, just like my mother.”

“Don't ever say that. No, you aren't. You were scared. I get it. When you are a Blue Angel, you are treated like a God. It’s hard not to get caught up in all that. But to be a pilot, to truly achieve that level of success and be chosen an angel, you have to be honorable, you have to be the best. I’m sure he loves you, just like I loved your mom. Don’t let your fear of being accepted by the pilot community and his family ruin your life. I know I’m not one to be giving advice, but I have lived my life with this regret. I don’t want you to go through this also. Give him a chance. Let yourself love him.”

“I’ll try.”

I said goodbye and left. I knew exactly what I had to do. I had to call Beck and beg him to come back to me.