It snowed the previous night, making all the houses look unearthly. It was a winter wonderland of houses that were like small mansions cover in snow and decorated with lights.

There was one mansion in particular that someone was looking for. A girl, only seventeen years old stands in front of said mansion trying to decide if she should knock on the door or just disappears.

Even though the sun was shining, there was still a chill and with every breath she took you could see the mist of it in the air.

Clutching her black dress coat over her body to get some warmth from the cold weather, she looked down at a sheet of paper to check to see if it's the right address.

Nervously she takes a lock of her jet black hair and twirls it between her fingers. Ginger you can do this, all you're doing is knocking on the door. She says to herself, trying to clear her thoughts and give herself a pep talk.

I didn't do all this work, talking to all those people just to back out now. I wanted to know this my whole life and now I'm here, at his house, he's just beyond this door. Yet I can't seem to find it in me to do this…maybe it's a mistake. What if he hates me, I'm intruding in his life or something.

Trying to calm herself down she takes a deep breath, clears her mind and knocks on the door. To her surprise a little boy opens the door and for a moment, time slows to a stop.

Despite the difference in their skin color, Ginger and the little boy had similarities. They had the same jet black hair, ocean eyes and freckles dusted lightly across their nose.

They were also different, the little boy had paler skin than she, and it was a peach color, most likely tanned from a lot of time playing in the sun. Ginger's skin was brown, resembling caramel. Snapping out of her trance, she begins to speak.

"Hi, is there a guy home by the name of Michael Vincent?" the boy was about to answer when all of the sudden a man appears.

His tall 6'3 frame leans against the doorway to his home. His skin is peach colored and his freckles also stand out slightly due to the sun. He looks down to her gives a half smile and speaks.

"I am Michael Vincent, how exactly may I help you?" She looks at him with longing, as if she finally found what she was searching for.

"Hello, I'm Ginger and I need to talk to you, it's really important." At this point her nerves were taking over. She was so uneasy about all this and she paused.

In doing so it sparked Michael's curiosity and then he looked her over again. There was something familiar about her, something that he couldn't help but notice.

"Have I seen you somewhere or met you before?" He asked, snapping out of her state of nervousness she answers.

"Actually yes you have, but that was when I was just a baby. I believe you knew my mother, Nichole." Hearing that name made his mind going into over load, he looked at her again and pure shock entered his system. It couldn't be, he thought. He stared into her eyes, eyes that were deep blue just like his own. As if confirming his thoughts Ginger takes a deep breath and continues to speak.

"I believe there's a chance that you are my father." A look of disbelief crosses his face, followed by denial.

Upon seeing his reaction Ginger takes a step back and whispers, "I'm sorry, I should just leave." She turns around and starts heading to her car. How could I be so stupid? I just show up to his house and expect him to drop everything, to accept me with open arms?

Michael was in disbelief, he didn't even realize that Ginger was inside her car about to start the engine and be out of his life once again.

He ran to the car as fast as he could and stopped at her car door. Once he got there, he didn't know what to say and neither did she. After a while of silence he decided to speak up.

"Sorry about my reaction a minute ago, I was just in shock…how about we talk about this stuff inside over lunch or something?" He waited for her answer; she voiced it without words by turning off the engine of her car. Ginger opened her door and stepped out and followed him back to the house.

While walking up the long driveway she lost her footing and tripped onto the cold gravel. To her surprise he opened his hand out to her and helped off the ground.

She's even clumsy like her; pain welled within his chest at the thought. He missed Nichole and the thought of her brought unwanted feelings back.

They entered his mansion, inside there was a chandelier of pure crystals and straight down was a spiral stair case.

To the left of it is the spacious living room and to the right of the stair case was the kitchen, which leads into the dining room. The whole pace was filled with top of the line furniture and extravagant rare items.

As Michael led Ginger into dining room all she could do is look around the place in awe. Although she tried to conceal it, Michael could tell that she was entranced at his home by the way her eyes lighted up at things that sparked her interest. Just like her mother, he thought.

"Would you like some tea? Or some hot chocolate?" He asked once they were in the dining room.

"Hot chocolate would be fine" She says still a little nervous especially being surrounded by all the expensive items.

Ginger was never raised around the rich and to be surrounded in it made her rather uncomfortable and intimidated.

A few minutes later Michael arrived with two big mugs over filled with whip cream, and he seated himself across from her.

"I wasn't sure if you liked whip cream, I wasn't thinking. I should have asked you first, I'll go make you another one." He says and at this point nervousness was eating at him which caused his constant rambling.

Great, I'm stuck with a rambler she thought darkly. It serves him right for deserting my mother, I should just let him squirm but after a while she started to think of it from another perspective.

I guess I should give him a chance, I mean I don't exactly know the whole story. I only know pieces of what happened but not the whole truth and he's the only one who can actually give it to me. After all, there is always two parts of a story…maybe I should hear his.

"It's OK; I like it just fine with whip cream. In fact it's one of my favorites." She says giving him a half smile.

"It's one of mine too…but I doubt you came all this way to discuss hot chocolate." He states with a solemn expression.

"I'm afraid not" She said with an expression equal to his.

"How much do you want to know?" He asks looking straight into her eyes.

"All of it and everything your willing to tell me." She says looking straight at him with such intensity that he broke her gaze and stared at his mug.

Sighing, he cleared his thoughts and got prepared to tell her the story he tried to bury and hide in the back of his mind for the past seventeen years.