Chapter 5
I did not read the letter in Victor's hospital room.
That surprised him.
Perhaps he expected me to tear through the pages immediately, desperate to discover what he had once intended to confess.
Instead, I folded them carefully and returned them to the envelope.
“You don't want to know?” he asked.
“I've spent thirteen years learning that important things deserve more than five hurried minutes.”
Melissa looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
I slipped the envelope into my purse.
Victor's doctor entered soon afterward and firmly ended the conversation.
His heart was struggling.
He needed rest.
Bernard left with copies of the transfer documents but agreed not to record or finalize anything until Mara reviewed the ownership issues.
Eleanor remained beside her son.
Melissa took Noah home.
Ethan and I drove back together shortly after midnight.
For the first ten minutes, neither of us spoke.
Streetlights moved across his face in brief flashes.
Finally he asked, “Did you really know for thirteen years?”
“Yes.”
He looked through the window.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were six.”
“I wasn't six forever.”
“No.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
I tightened my hands around the steering wheel.
“I don't know.”
It was not the answer he wanted.
But after everything that had happened, I was finished offering convenient answers simply because they were easier to hear.
Ethan nodded slowly.
“You always tell me that avoiding something doesn't make it disappear.”
“I know.”
“And you avoided this.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I was scared that once I said it aloud, every part of our life would have to change.”
He considered that.
“And did staying quiet keep it from changing?”
“No.”
The answer hung between us.
A moment later, Ethan rested his head against the seat.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I don't like it.”
“You don't have to.”
“But I understand it a little.”
That was more grace than I deserved.
When we reached home, Ethan went upstairs.
I made tea.
Not because I wanted it.
Because some habits survive even the worst days.
Then I sat at the kitchen table where, thirteen years earlier, I had first discovered Melissa's message.
The same cabinets surrounded me.
The same clock ticked above the pantry.
Different refrigerator.
Different woman.
I opened Victor's letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
For years Victor had filled birthday cards with the same sloping capital letters.
Claire, if you are reading this, it means I finally found the courage to tell you about Noah.
I kept reading.
He had written it after Noah's second birthday.
May you like
The letter did not contain excuses.
That surprised me most.
