ULTIMATUM - November 20th, 1929
I knocked on the door of the study. I knew my father would be in there, preparing for trial, frantically jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad. You have to stop referring to him as your father, Charlotte. He isn't. I bit my lip nervously as I stood, waiting. How could my mother have left this for me to do? Couldn't she have told him herself? I was angry with her for laying the burden upon me. I can't do this. I can't tell him. I can't.
"Come in," his voice called out from inside. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and opened the door precariously. This could go very, very badly.
"Good evening, Char," he smiled naively. He was sitting at his walnut desk, as expected, deeply engrossed in a heavy law book. Papers were scattered everywhere. "Coming to visit your old Dad?"
Not exactly. "We need to talk," I began anxiously. "There's something I have to tell you. It won't be easy."
"What is it, Darling?" He asked, the concern palpable in his words. "Here, come sit."
I sat down in a spacious leather chair. I could barely speak. Simply handing him the letter was a Herculean task. "Y-you should read this," I stammered. I stared at the floor as he read. The seconds ticked away too slowly on the Grandfather clock in the corner. I was petrified of what his reaction would be. Would he throw me out, refuse to shelter a child who wasn't even his? What was going to happen?
He finally looked up, staring straight into my eyes. "Um, I, I . . ." I searched for an explanation, but I had no idea what to say.
He slowly raised a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything, Charlotte," he said gently. "You need to now that I raised you, and that you will always be a daughter to me, no matter what happens. I love you." He paused. "You can remain here and be my daughter. No one besides us has to know about this."
He was being so understanding! I was overjoyed. I chided myself silently for having been so scared. How could I have underestimated this man so greatly?
"Is that okay, Charlotte? Let's just forget this ever happened."
"Wait a minute," I began, growing angry. This wasn't the solution I wanted. I wanted - needed - to find my real father. Did this man really expect me to go on as though nothing has happened? It was crazy, undoable. "That's not what I want!" I protested. "I want to find this man, Jack Dawson, my father! I want to know him, see him, talk to him. I have to look for him!"
His face grew red with rage. "Listen to me, Charlotte. I am your father. I raised you and clothed you and fed you. The last two years I have done so by myself, with no help from anybody. I will continue to be your father, and you will have no father but me. Is that understood?"
I tried to remain calm. "I love you. I'm grateful for everything you've ever given me. But can't you understand why I have to find this man? I have to try, at least. I have to know."
He was irate. "You can find him if you want, Charlotte. Go look for him, for all I care! But if you do, you can never come back into this house again. If you leave, you leave for good. Take your pick, Charlotte: him or me."
Instantaneously, I stood up from the chair. I never doubted what I was going to do. I had to find Jack Dawson. I had to. There were no other options. For him, for a chance to know where I came from, I would leave behind everything I had ever known, everyone who had ever cared about me. I walked around the desk and grabbed the envelope from his hand. It was the last time I ever touched him. I stared him straight in the eye. "Goodbye," I said. And with that, I turned around and walked towards the door.
"Charlotte!" He called angrily. "Get back in here this instant!" I ignored his harsh words, and left the study. I went to my room and hurriedly grabbed my coat and purse. I didn't care about anything else I owned. I had to leave. I stuffed the envelope inside my purse and ran down the stairs. Nellie stared, astonished, as I opened the front door and walked out. I was never to return.
I knocked on the door of the study. I knew my father would be in there, preparing for trial, frantically jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad. You have to stop referring to him as your father, Charlotte. He isn't. I bit my lip nervously as I stood, waiting. How could my mother have left this for me to do? Couldn't she have told him herself? I was angry with her for laying the burden upon me. I can't do this. I can't tell him. I can't.
"Come in," his voice called out from inside. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and opened the door precariously. This could go very, very badly.
"Good evening, Char," he smiled naively. He was sitting at his walnut desk, as expected, deeply engrossed in a heavy law book. Papers were scattered everywhere. "Coming to visit your old Dad?"
Not exactly. "We need to talk," I began anxiously. "There's something I have to tell you. It won't be easy."
"What is it, Darling?" He asked, the concern palpable in his words. "Here, come sit."
I sat down in a spacious leather chair. I could barely speak. Simply handing him the letter was a Herculean task. "Y-you should read this," I stammered. I stared at the floor as he read. The seconds ticked away too slowly on the Grandfather clock in the corner. I was petrified of what his reaction would be. Would he throw me out, refuse to shelter a child who wasn't even his? What was going to happen?
He finally looked up, staring straight into my eyes. "Um, I, I . . ." I searched for an explanation, but I had no idea what to say.
He slowly raised a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything, Charlotte," he said gently. "You need to now that I raised you, and that you will always be a daughter to me, no matter what happens. I love you." He paused. "You can remain here and be my daughter. No one besides us has to know about this."
He was being so understanding! I was overjoyed. I chided myself silently for having been so scared. How could I have underestimated this man so greatly?
"Is that okay, Charlotte? Let's just forget this ever happened."
"Wait a minute," I began, growing angry. This wasn't the solution I wanted. I wanted - needed - to find my real father. Did this man really expect me to go on as though nothing has happened? It was crazy, undoable. "That's not what I want!" I protested. "I want to find this man, Jack Dawson, my father! I want to know him, see him, talk to him. I have to look for him!"
His face grew red with rage. "Listen to me, Charlotte. I am your father. I raised you and clothed you and fed you. The last two years I have done so by myself, with no help from anybody. I will continue to be your father, and you will have no father but me. Is that understood?"
I tried to remain calm. "I love you. I'm grateful for everything you've ever given me. But can't you understand why I have to find this man? I have to try, at least. I have to know."
He was irate. "You can find him if you want, Charlotte. Go look for him, for all I care! But if you do, you can never come back into this house again. If you leave, you leave for good. Take your pick, Charlotte: him or me."
Instantaneously, I stood up from the chair. I never doubted what I was going to do. I had to find Jack Dawson. I had to. There were no other options. For him, for a chance to know where I came from, I would leave behind everything I had ever known, everyone who had ever cared about me. I walked around the desk and grabbed the envelope from his hand. It was the last time I ever touched him. I stared him straight in the eye. "Goodbye," I said. And with that, I turned around and walked towards the door.
"Charlotte!" He called angrily. "Get back in here this instant!" I ignored his harsh words, and left the study. I went to my room and hurriedly grabbed my coat and purse. I didn't care about anything else I owned. I had to leave. I stuffed the envelope inside my purse and ran down the stairs. Nellie stared, astonished, as I opened the front door and walked out. I was never to return.
