a Short Story By S. Vincent Anthony
(The Worst Father)
In the vibrant coastal town of Solhaven, where the air carried the tang of salt and the promise of new beginnings, Nora, Elias, and Ivy had built lives that gleamed like sunlight on the waves. The shadows of Greystone, their childhood town of coal and despair, were long gone, as was their father, Roland, a distant memory buried under years of resilience. Their mother, who had fled with a note of surrender, had passed quietly a few years ago, her final letters filled with regret for abandoning her children to Roland’s neglect. The siblings had mourned briefly, not for the mother they barely knew, but for the closure her apologies brought. Now, in their thirties, they were a family forged not by blood alone, but by shared survival and unyielding love.
Nora, at 34, was the heartbeat of Solhaven’s community garden, her sharp wit now softened by purpose. She owned a small nursery called Green Haven, where she taught kids to plant sunflowers and tended to rows of vegetables that fed the local shelter. Her hands, once used to pilfer food from corner stores, now nurtured life. On weekends, she hosted potlucks in her cozy bungalow, its walls adorned with Ivy’s vibrant paintings. Nora had adopted a daughter, Mia, a curious seven-year-old who bounced around the garden, her pigtails swinging as she helped water the tomatoes. “You’re gonna grow taller than these plants, kiddo,” Nora teased, her eyes crinkling with a warmth she’d never known in childhood. She thought of Roland sometimes, not with anger, but with a detached pity—he’d missed this, the life she’d built from his ruins.
Elias, now 31, had become a librarian at Solhaven’s public library, his bookish nature finding a home among stacks of novels and history texts. His quiet demeanor hid a fierce passion for stories, and he ran a weekly book club for teens, guiding them through tales of adventure and resilience. Elias had written a novel, Tides of Time, a quiet bestseller about three siblings overcoming a fractured past—not a memoir, but close enough that Nora and Ivy had cried reading it. He lived in a loft above the library, its windows overlooking the ocean, where he’d sit alone, journaling late-night thoughts about the universe. Elias had once tried to understand Roland through history books, but now he found peace in creating stories, not chasing ghosts. When a teen asked about his inspiration, Elias smiled and said, “My sisters. They taught me how to keep going.”
Ivy, 27, was the dreamer who’d turned her childhood sketches into a career as an artist. Her studio, a colorful shed behind Nora’s bungalow, overflowed with canvases of feasts, sunsets, and families holding hands—images of the joy she’d once drawn on a barren fridge. Her work hung in local galleries, each piece signed with a tiny ivy leaf. Ivy taught art classes at the community center, her soft-spoken voice guiding students to find beauty in their own stories. Single but never lonely, she cherished her evenings with Nora, Elias, and their chosen family, where they’d share wine and laugh over old memories—not of Roland, but of their own triumphs, like the time Elias fixed the roof or Nora braided Ivy’s hair by candlelight. Ivy had kept one drawing from childhood, a feast of roast chicken and cake, now framed in her studio. “It’s a reminder,” she told Mia, “that you can make your own happiness.”
One spring evening, the siblings gathered at Nora’s for their annual “Solhaven Supper,” a tradition they’d started after leaving Greystone. The table groaned with fresh bread from a local bakery, grilled vegetables from Nora’s garden, and fish caught by a neighbor. Mia ran around with a kite Ivy had painted, its colors soaring against the sunset. Elias read a new chapter from his next book, his voice steady as the group leaned in, captivated. Ivy unveiled a painting of the three siblings as children, not in Greystone’s gloom, but laughing on a beach, their faces bright with possibility. “This is how I see us,” she said, her eyes misty but happy.
As the night wound down, Nora raised a glass. “To us,” she said, “for building this from nothing.” Elias and Ivy clinked their glasses, their smiles reflecting years of healing. Their mother’s regretful letters had given them closure, and Roland’s neglect had given them strength, but this moment—the laughter, the warmth, the family they’d chosen—was theirs alone. In Solhaven, under a sky free of coal dust, Nora, Elias, and Ivy had found not just survival, but joy, their lives a testament to the light they’d kindled in the shadow of their past.
-The End-