Chapter 11 – Fathers, Found and Forgotten
Chapter 11 – Fathers, Found and Forgotten
Chapter 11 – Fathers, Found and Forgotten
Nadira had faced clients who threatened lawsuits, executives who shouted in her face, and an uncountable number of crisis meetings.
But none of that compared to the absolute stillness in the room she was in now.
The kind of stillness that stretched taut like a violin string, vibrating with unspoken tension.
Across from her sat Dr. Wiratma Gunawan — a man with the kind of calm, deliberate poise that could either disarm or crush. He was impeccably dressed in a deep charcoal suit, with a platinum lapel pin shaped like a phoenix — the symbol of Gunawan HealthTech, and by extension, the family legacy he’d spent decades building.
But he wasn’t looking at her like a businessman.
He was looking at her like a stranger trying to recognize someone from a dream.
“You look like your mother,” he said at last.
Nadira’s spine stiffened.
“You knew her?”
“Briefly.”
“That’s convenient.”
He gave a sad smile. “I deserve that.”
She remained silent. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, but her knuckles were white from the pressure.
“You requested this meeting,” she said finally, her voice even. “I assumed it had a purpose beyond reminiscing about my mother’s face.”
Dr. Wiratma sighed. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers steepled.
“You’re direct. I like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to impress you.”
“Good,” he said. “Because you don’t need to.”
\---
Flashback: Years Ago
In his younger years, Dr. Wiratma had been brilliant — a visionary doctor with a dream to modernize Indonesia’s healthcare system. But along the way, as the company grew, so did the political games, the lies, and the secrets.
One of them was Nadira.
He hadn’t meant to abandon her. He’d convinced himself it was mercy.
Her mother had refused financial help. Refused to name him on the birth certificate. Too proud, too afraid. She disappeared into a shadowy corner of Jakarta, giving birth alone, dying young.
By the time he found out, Nadira was already a child.
And he had already told the world he had no children.
So instead of claiming her, he watched from afar.
Donated anonymously to the orphanage she’d ended up in.
And did nothing else.
\---
Present
“I’m not here for money,” Nadira said, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“And I’m not here for a family reunion.”
“That’s more disappointing.”
She exhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to give you what’s rightfully yours.”
He pulled a folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a legal declaration. DNA confirmation. And an invitation to join the board of Gunawan HealthTech as a non-executive advisor.
She looked up, stunned. “You’re offering me a seat?”
“I’m offering you a legacy,” he said. “The name you never got. The voice you were denied.”
Her throat tightened.
“It’s not that simple.”
“No,” he agreed. “It never is.”
She leaned back, folding her arms. “And why now? Because I’m dating Reyhan Azhari?”
Something flickered in his eyes. A crack in the polished mask.
“Because you’re capable,” he replied after a pause. “I’ve watched you. Your rise at Azhari Group. Your instincts. Your discipline. I should’ve claimed you a long time ago. But I can’t change the past. I can only offer you a future.”
She stared at the document again.
Her name—Nadira Salma Gunawan—looked foreign.
And yet… hauntingly familiar.
\---
Reyhan’s Office – That Afternoon
Reyhan was reviewing contracts when she walked in, her face unreadable.
“You met him,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, closing the door behind her.
“He offered me a board seat at Gunawan HealthTech.”
Reyhan froze.
“He wants me to carry the family name,” she added. “To claim the legacy. Publicly.”
Reyhan stood slowly, setting his pen down. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t answer.”
He crossed the room to her. “Are you considering it?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “That name comes with power, yes. But also secrets. Expectations. And I’m not sure who I become if I accept.”
Reyhan brushed a thumb along her cheek. “You’ll still be you. No matter what name you carry.”
She looked up. “Will your board still trust me if I become a Gunawan?”
“Some won’t,” he admitted. “But I will. And that’s the only vote that matters.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m scared, Reyhan.”
He kissed her forehead gently.
“So am I.”
\---
That Night – Nadira’s Apartment
She sat in front of her laptop, staring at the digital copy of the offer letter.
So many versions of herself fought for dominance:
The orphan who dreamed of safety.
The woman who earned her place through grit and silence.
The child who used to watch fathers pick up their children from the orphanage gate and wonder, What if?
She didn’t realize she was crying until the first drop hit the keyboard.
\---
Elsewhere – Dr. Wiratma’s Private Office
“She hasn’t responded?” Dimas Gunawan asked, arms crossed.
“No.”
“And you still want her involved?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s Reyhan’s weakness.”
Dr. Wiratma narrowed his eyes.
Dimas smirked. “Think about it, brother. What happens when she stands between us and the next merger? What happens when the girl you abandoned is suddenly in love with the man we’re trying to outvote?”
Dr. Wiratma was silent.
But in his mind, the war had already begun.
And Nadira?
She was standing directly in the crossfire.
\---
Three Days Later – Gunawan Tower
Nadira stood before a press backdrop bearing the Gunawan family name.
Microphones, cameras, media reps all watching.
Her hand clutched a single note in her blazer pocket—written by Reyhan the night before:
> No matter what you choose, you’re mine. Not because of your name. But because of your soul.
She breathed in.
Stepped forward.
And spoke.
“Good afternoon. My name is Nadira Salma Gunawan. I am honored to confirm my lineage, though I will continue to serve with integrity, not entitlement.”
“My past does not define my value. My work does.”
Flashbulbs exploded.
And behind her, Dr. Wiratma smiled like he’d won something.
But Nadira?
She hadn’t submitted.
She had claimed.
On her terms.
And from that moment on, nothing would ever be the same.