Clara quickly unlocked the door to the little cabin that sat in an unexpectedly vast opening in the winding mass of trees and foliage. She stepped through the timber doorway gliding down the crimson colored hallway, into the living room, tossing her backpack onto the couch. Clara glanced around the room her eye catching on an envelope with her name written on it, that was propped up on the mantle. Carefully opening the envelope, she reached inside and pulled out a piece of crumpled notebook paper folded in half. Unfolding the paper, she took the time to admire the quick but elegant cursive. With a quick glance Clara observed that the writer was definitely not her mother, for the words that spelt her name itself looked like a timeless piece of work.
Dear Clara,
I wanted to let you know how much I miss and love you, sweetie. Your mother and you are my world. 
For the past seven years everyone that was in my life, except your mother and Johnson, thinks I died from a car crash, never to be heard from again. However, that is not entirely the truth of the matter. I survived. 
I don’t suggest you come look for me. Write me a letter and leave it on the mantle when you go to school. I will come see you soon hopefully.
Love,
   your father
Clara stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. She thought this could not be real. This had to be impossible. Her father was dead, and had been for almost ten years. What was she going to do? Clara opened her nightstand, tossing the letter and ripped envelope inside, she let out a long sigh. I figure I will just have to wait it out and see what happens, Amelia thought as drifted off to sleep unconcerned about her homework.
Clara awoke to her mother calling her name from down the hallway. “I’ll be there in a minute!” she said, raising her voice. She threw her hair up into a sloppy ponytail, barely bothering to use her brush. Strolling out of the room, book in hand, she went to her mother’s room and stood in the doorway. “Honey,” Mrs. Rose looked her daughter up and down, “I had a lot of time to think today at work, we weren’t very busy...I was wondering if you remember our father?” “Of course,” Clara crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway, “Why do you ask?” “I was just curious darling.” her mother crossed the room in two long strides, placing her hand on her daughter's’ shoulder. “Well I have to go do homework mom,” Clara said matter of factly, uncrossing her arms and removing her mom’s hand from her shoulder. “Oh I am sorry for holding you up. I guess we can talk later.” “Yeah sure,” Clara mumbled making her way down the small wooden staircase that led back into the living room that could be seen from the balcony outside her mother’s room. She found much irony in the fact that are father had contacted her the same day that her mother had asked about him, but who is she kidding, her mother asks about her father all the time. Today is no different than yesterday. 
Clara and her father met secretly the next day in the garden behind their house, he answered many of her questions and from then on they met everyday on the front porch for the next month.
  Clara came home from school to her father standing in the kitchen, blankly staring out the window, as if waiting for something. “What’s wrong dad?” Clara muttered, waving her hand in front of his face. “Oh nothing,” he walked around the dining table with an odd grin on his face, steering Clara to the living room with his firm hand on her shoulder.  Mr. Rose sat down on the couch stretching out his legs, folding his arms behind his head. “Do you remember when I first tried to contact you a few weeks ago?” “Yes I do,” Clara replied sitting in a chair across from her father, arms crossed. “I was very confused and I thought it all must have been a cruel joke.” “I expected that when I wrote you the letter,” her father confided with a small grin beginning to cross his face,“but I am so glad you replied.” “I’m glad I replied too. I finally know what it’s like to have a father, which I haven’t experienced since I was little.” Clara’s eyes brightened, but her arms stayed crossed. “Car, you’ll have a father in your life until it puts you in danger. When I become a danger to you it’s not worth me being around.” The grin on Mr. Rose’s face disappeared, as his face became slack. “Dad,” Clara’s voice slightly trembled as she spoke, “Would you really leave me again?” “I promise the only time I will leave you is if it’s absolutely necessary.” He stood, walked over to his only child, and hugged her from behind...
“Why do you only come when mom’s not home though?” Clara glanced up at her father, child-like wonder in her eyes.“Oh sweetheart, I just do not wanna put any undue stress on your mother right now.” Her father shook his head, corners of his mouth drooping. “Oh okay.” “Can this be our little secret, Car?” “Oh course,” Clara’s voice softened, “Our little secret.” “Clara? Who are you talking to?” Mrs. Rose walked into the living room. “It’s just dad, mom, Clara said with a grin on her face. “Oh. My. Gosh,” Mrs. Rose’s jaw dropped, “That’s not your father!”...