Beyond the Grave

Humid air, music and laughter filled the night as Clara Jene stood frozen, heart pounding. She was supposed to be enjoying her graduation trip with her best friends, Anna and Shae, in the irie city of Kingston, Jamaica. In the crowded beach party, she spotted someone she never expected—her father, Clarke.

The same man she had mourned for seven years, the man she believed had died from kidney failure when she was just eleven years old. But this wasn’t the Clarke she remembered. He looked older, with a thick beard and long locs, but his wide hazel eyes, identical to Clara’s, were unmistakable.” When they met hers, the world seemed to stop. “Clar Clar,” he whispered, using the nickname only he called her.

Clara’s heart shattered again. Without a second thought, she ran, her feet pounding the sand until she collapsed, gasping for air. Anna and Shae hurried after her, filled with concern.

“Girl, what’s wrong?” Anna asked.

“I saw my dad!” Clara blurted out, her voice trembling.

“Your dad?” Shae asked. “I thought he was…”

“Dead? Yeah, I thought so too,” Clara said frantically. But her friends exchanged doubtful glances.

Before Clara could say anything else, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, her hands trembling. The screen flashed with an unknown number.

“Hello, who’s this?” she answered nervously.

“Hi, Clara. Meet me tomorrow at your grandmother’s house. Write this down.” The voice was unmistakable—it was him..

The sound of his voice sent chills down her back. She took a long pause before responding, “Okay.”

The next day Clara anxiously caught a cab to meet her father. Anna and Shae willingly tagged along, despite their disbelief of Clara’s story. The bright orange house blared reggae music as Clara’s stomach knotted walking up the bushy path. The door was already opened, and there he was, standing tall, his eyes locking with Clara’s.

The sight made Anna and Shae’s jaws drop. Inside, Clara’s family beamed, as if this reunion had been long overdue. As Clarke reached for a hug, Clara instinctively pulled away, the weight of his betrayal holding her back despite the longing in her heart.

The room was alive with joy, but all Clara could feel was a lie staring her straight in the face. “Clara, it’s been so long,” her father said softly, his voice heavy with regret.

Clara sank into the couch, her mind a web. “These people are insane,” she thought, tuning out the buzzing chatter around her.

“Timothy, my son,” her grandmother’s voice cut through the noise. Clara’s head snapped up.

“Who’s Timothy?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Crickets filled the room.

“Clara, babygirl… Timothy is my real name,” her father said shamefully. Clara blinked, her face scrunching up in disbelief. “WHAT?! So who in the world is Clarke?”

Her father sighed before saying, “I was in some problems back then, and had to change my identity. I couldn’t let them—.”

Before he could finish, Clara exploded. “YOU LIED TO ME! YOU FAKED YOUR DEATH!” Tears streamed as the room erupted, voices overlapping in chaos.

She saw the pain in her father’s eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Overstimulated, she stormed outside. Anna and Shae followed, understanding her need to escape. They took a taxi back to the hotel, Clara simmering with anger. It was no point in staying longer; the trip was emotionally ruined. The silent flight back home to Bimini left Clara’s mind swirling. At the airport, she collapsed into her mother Mavis’s arms, spilling everything—the lies, the betrayal. Mavis was stunned.

“Clara…you’re telling me that your father is alive? Theo sent me photos from Jamaica … said Clarke was cremated, that there wouldn’t be a funeral...” Mavis murmured.

Mavis had no reason to question it, but now everything felt like a cruel joke.

Clara stared out the window on the drive home, her heart heavy. Mavis quietly said, “Do what feels right, Clara. Follow your heart.”

That night, Clara searched restlessly for answers about her father’s real identity, uncovering pieces of a shattered past. At 8 a.m., a knock at the door jolted her from her restless thoughts. Peering through the curtain, there he was again—her lying father, standing on the doorstep.

“When will this end?” she whispered to herself, torn between the desire for answers and the need to protect herself from more pain.

Now, it was up to her. Would she let him in, or close the door on him forever?