Chapter 3 - The Letters That Never Arrived
“What was in letter twelve?”
Ethan's voice had become dangerously calm.
Richard rubbed one hand across his face.
“I never read it.”
“Then why were you hoping it was gone?”
“Because I know when it was sent.”
I knew too.
My stomach turned.
Letter twelve had been written in a hospital bed.
Noah had been born fourteen hours earlier.
I had held him against my chest with one hand while writing with the other.
Ethan stood over his father.
“What was in it?”
I answered.
“A photograph of your son.”
Nobody spoke.
Ethan looked at me.
Then toward the closed door where Noah was playing.
“My son.”
It wasn't quite a question.
I had imagined this moment thousands of times.
Sometimes Ethan cried.
Sometimes he shouted.
Sometimes he embraced Noah immediately.
Sometimes he walked away.
Reality was quieter.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed.
Victoria stepped backward.
Richard stared at the table.
Ethan opened his eyes again.
“You knew?”
He was looking at Richard.
“Not then.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“You've known I have a son for two years?”
Richard's silence answered.
Ethan pushed away from the table.
He walked several feet, stopped, then turned.
I had never seen him like that.
Not angry.
Destroyed.
“You stole two years from me.”
Richard's voice broke.
“I was trying to protect Noah.”
“From me?”
“From whoever did this.”
Ethan stopped.
Richard continued.
“When I found Emma, I started investigating privately. The deeper I went, the worse it became. Records had been altered. Payments moved through shell accounts. Martin Vale vanished. Someone inside Blackwood Holdings had access to Ethan's office, mail, phone records, and private calendar.”
Victoria folded her arms.
“And you suspect me because I signed for one envelope?”
Richard looked at her.
“I suspect everyone who had access.”
“Including yourself?”
“Yes.”
That surprised us all.
Richard removed a small key from his pocket.
“There is a secure archive at the Blackwood estate.”
Ethan laughed bitterly.
“Of course there is.”
“In it are records from that year. I found something three months ago that I couldn't explain.”
“What?”
“A second version of Emma's agreement.”
My blood chilled.
“There was only one.”
“I know.”
Richard placed the key on the table.
“The version in the archive contains an additional page.”
Ethan picked up the key.
“What page?”
Richard looked at me.
“A custody waiver.”
I stood so fast my chair scraped backward.
“No.”
“Emma—”
“I never signed anything about Noah.”
“I believe you.”
“No. I never even told them I was pregnant when I signed the agreement.”
Ethan stared at Richard.
“Then how could there be a custody waiver?”
Exactly.
The question followed us to the Blackwood estate.
Richard insisted we leave the restaurant.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered the anonymous photograph of my letters.
Somebody knew we were together.
Somebody knew what Richard had discovered.
And whoever it was had kept evidence for seven years.
Noah fell asleep during the drive.
Ethan sat across from him in Richard's SUV.
He couldn't stop looking at him.
Noah's curls.
His hands.
The tiny crease beside his mouth.
Every few minutes, Ethan looked away as though watching his own son hurt too much.
When we reached the estate, Richard carried Noah upstairs.
I followed.
Ethan stopped me outside the guest room.
“Does he know?”
“About you?”
He nodded.
“No.”
“Why?”
“What was I supposed to tell him?”
“That I'm his father.”
“I didn't know whether you wanted to be.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“You didn't give me the chance.”
“Neither of us got a chance.”
That stopped him.
For once, there was no accusation.
Only grief.
We joined Richard in the archive downstairs.
He unlocked a steel cabinet and removed a thick file.
Inside was the agreement I'd signed.
My signature was there.
Then came another page.
CUSTODIAL RELINQUISHMENT.
My name.
A signature.
It looked like mine.
But it wasn't.
Ethan saw my face.
“You didn't sign this?”
“No.”
Richard turned the page.
A notary seal appeared at the bottom.
Ethan leaned closer.
Then froze.
“What?”
Richard followed his gaze.
The document listed the witness.
VICTORIA HALE.
A sound came from behind us.
The archive door was open.
Victoria stood there.
She looked at the document.
Then at Ethan.
May you like
And said:
“That isn't my signature either.”
