Phoebe sat in the backseat of an old taxicab, anxiously twisting the snake ring on her right index finger. She gazed out of the grimy window at the horizon line where the sky met the ocean. The deep blue surface of the water glimmered, reflecting the sun rays. The tall palm trees flashed before her eyes as the car sped through the streets of Los Angeles. It was a beautiful day, but the sunny California weather did not match how she felt on the inside.

Phoebe Reed has been running for the past 14 years from a man who had murdered her mother. She was 13 when she came home from school one day and found her mom lying in a pool of blood, with a bullet in the side of her head. She called 911 and told the cops who were behind it, but they ruled it as suicide and did not investigate it any further. When the case was closed, Phoebe ended up in a foster home since she had no other family. Her foster parents were nice enough, but she knew that she wasn't safe there. He would come for her next, it was only a matter of time.

Six months after her mom's death, a man tried to grab her on an empty street and pull her into his black SUV. She barely got away and ripped her jacket in the process. That night she decided to run away. She packed the only belongings she had, which were some clothes, a CD walkman, her mom's old high school journal that they used to read together and the silver snake ring that her mom had gifted her on her 13th birthday. She also stole some money from her foster mom's purse which she felt terrible about, but she knew she would need it.

The streets of New York were dangerous for anyone, but especially for a homeless teenage girl. Phoebe cut her long brown hair into a pixie cut to look more like a boy and wore her hood up to hide her face. She stayed at a homeless shelter and if someone asked, she said that she was 18. The money she stole from her foster parents was spent quickly and she was left with nothing. She learned to pickpocket from a group of teenagers that she met at the shelter. They taught her that a person can't register being touched in two places at the same time, so if you bump into them while simultaneously reaching into their purse or pocket, they won't notice. She practiced stealing rocks from their jackets for a week until she had mastered that skill. Soon enough, she moved on to stealing from strangers. Usually, she went for wallets and used the cash to buy food. Other times she stole jewelry and took it to pawn shops. This kept her alive for a couple of months. One of those times, she swiped an expensive watch from a businessman and brought it in, but the pawnshop owner was immediately suspicious of her. She said that the watch belonged to her sick father and that they needed the money to get his medication. The owner didn't buy her story and called the cops.

When they questioned her, she tried to use a fake name, but they figured out who she was pretty quickly. They brought her back into foster care when they realized that she was a minor. This time the foster family wasn't as pleasant as the previous one. The father was an alcoholic who verbally abused his wife, and she took it out on the children. There were seven foster kids and as the oldest, Phoebe had to help to take care of all of them. After four months of living there, she decided to run away again. She felt bad stealing their money because they had so many mouths to feed, but she needed the cash to get out of the city. She figured that leaving New York and going as far away as possible would be the safest option, so she bought a bus ticket to Atlanta. She and her mom were supposed to travel there for her 14th birthday.

During the bus ride, she listened to her CDs and read her mom's journal. Reading it made her feel closer to her as if she was still alive somewhere. It also had some polaroids taped to the pages that Phoebe liked to look at. One was of her mom and her dad from when they were dating back in high school. Phoebe opened the journal. The first page read "This book belongs to Evie Reed, if you read past this warning without my permission, you shall be forever cursed and will die a horrible death". Phoebe smiled. This warning didn't apply to her. She flipped to the page with the photograph and stared at it. The happy couple in the photo were hugging each other and grinning back at her. Phoebe looked a lot like her mom. The same wavy brown hair and steel grey eyes. Her father had blonde hair, brown eyes and a handsome face.

When Phoebe was six, she asked her mom where her dad was. She told her the truth because they didn't keep secrets from one another. Her father's name was James Macgyver. They dated in high school for three years and broke up after graduation when James decided to move to a different state. Evie didn't see him for years until one day they ran into each other at the airport. They reconnected and started dating again. A couple of months later he confessed that he was already married. When Evie learned this information, she blew up and told him that she never wanted to see him again. Three months later she found out that she was pregnant with Phoebe. James never knew that he had a daughter and Phoebe never got to meet her father. Based on the stories her mother had told her he used to be in the military and worked for a government agency. She even knew his old address which was written in the margins next to the photograph. Phoebe never felt the need to seek out her father because she was always so close to her mom, and she felt like he had betrayed her. She didn't want to meet him, not until now.

The taxicab pulled up next to the big Los Angeles home. Phoebe grabbed her backpack, got out of the taxi and thanked the driver. The tall trees grew all around the property covering much of the house, making it feel more secluded. There was a possibility that her father didn't live here anymore, but it was the only lead she had. If he moved, the new owners could still have his contact information. She took a deep breath and walked up the long driveway. She rang the doorbell a couple of times, but no one answered. After a few minutes, she knocked but there was still no reply. The wooden door had horizontal glass panels, but they were opaque, and she couldn't see through them.

"Great, no one is home. Now what?" she mumbled to herself.

"Hello?" came a voice from behind her, making her jump.

Phoebe spun around and was greeted by a young man with blond hair and a friendly smile. He was coming up the driveway and when he reached her, she noticed that he was slightly taller than her.

"Hi!" she smiled nervously. There was a long pause and he looked at her expectedly.

"Um, I'm looking for James Macgyver. Does he still live here?"

The man looked puzzled as he stared at her for a couple of seconds.

"No," he finally said. "He doesn't."

"Oh... Do you know where I could find him by any chance?" she wondered.

"No, I don't know where he is," he said looking more and more confused. "Who are you?"

"Oh sorry!" she exclaimed "My name is Phoebe Reed." she stuck her hand out and he shook it warily.

"Angus," he introduced himself. "So, how do you know... James?"

Phoebe chewed on her lower lip contemplating whether she should tell him the truth. It sounded silly in her head to say that she was his long-lost daughter.

"I don't know him personally," she explained. "But I think he is my father."

The man's jaw dropped, and he stared at her in shock.

"Huh?" he blurted.

"Well, I've never met him." she added quickly "I only heard stories about him from my mom. They dated back in high school. Then they ran into each other 25 years ago and hooked up. I don't think he even knows that I exist. I mean he had a wife before they got together. She didn't know this of course. When she found out, she told him to get lost and she never saw him again after that," She rambled on while the man in front of her watched her in disbelief.

"Where did you get this address?" he interjected and she stopped talking.

"From my mom's old journal," she said and started rummaging through her backpack. She flipped through the pages to the one that had the polaroid of the two of them.

"See that's my mom and that's him," she commented as she held up the journal for him to see. "And here is the address."

Angus picked up the book from her hands and examined the photo for a few long minutes.

"That's the only info I had so I figured I'd try looking here first."

Angus didn't respond, continuing to stare at the photograph. Phoebe started to get anxious and began to twist the ring around her finger.

"I should probably go then if he is not here. Sorry for showing up like this," she apologized and reached for the journal, but he moved it away from her and looked up.

"You're telling me that James Macgyver is your father?" he questioned.

"Yeah, I mean that's what my mom had told me."

He stared back at her for what felt like an eternity, and she began to feel uncomfortable.

"So... you've met him?" she tried awkwardly.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "I've met him." She sensed the anger in his voice and began to really regret coming here.

"He is my father," he said bluntly.

Her eyes widened. Shit.

She didn't know that James had another child. Her mom never told her about him so she must not have known either. Was he younger or older than her? He looked about the same age, but it was hard to say and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

"I had no idea," she breathed. He was still gripping the journal in his hands and staring at it with a stunned expression on his face.

"I'm really sorry," she whispered.

"You're 25?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"So that means I was already born when he.. reconnected with your mom," he looked up at her and she could clearly see the hurt in his eyes. He slowly handed her the journal back, and she awkwardly accepted it.

Minutes passed as they stared at one another. The man that stood in front of her was her half-brother. He was her family even though he probably wanted nothing to do with her. She was a product of an affair that his dad had with her mom. It was all wrong. She should've never come here.

"I should go," she finally said. "I'm really sorry," she apologized again and quickly moved past him.

"Wait," he called, and she stopped in her tracks.

"Can we talk?" he asked and she turned to look at him. "Inside?" he added.

She pondered for a few seconds, then nodded. He unlocked the front door and she followed him into the house.