Chapter 2 - THE LETTERS THAT NEVER ARRIVED
Mara woke when Milo shifted beside her.
For a few seconds, she looked confused.
Then she saw me standing near the doorway.
Her expression hardened immediately.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s my apartment.”
“That doesn’t make this easier.”
I looked toward the children.
“They’re asleep.”
“Three of them are.”
Milo closed his eyes dramatically.
“I’m asleep too.”
Despite everything, Mara almost smiled.
I remembered that smile.
Six years disappeared in an instant.
Then she stood.
“Kitchen.”
We walked behind the marble island where the boys could not hear us clearly.
I kept my voice low.
“Milo said I was supposed to know about them.”
Mara looked exhausted.
“You were.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I wrote to you.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Before they were born.”
“I never received anything.”
“I sent eleven letters.”
I stared at her.
“Eleven?”
“I emailed you.”
“I called.”
“I left messages with your office.”
“I even went to your family’s house.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No, Elliot.”
“It happened.”
She reached into one of the worn duffel bags and removed an old envelope.
The paper had been folded many times.
Across the front was my name.
ELLIOT WHITAKER.
Underneath was the address of my family’s Fifth Avenue townhouse.
A red stamp covered the corner.
RETURN TO SENDER.
ADDRESSEE REFUSED.
My stomach dropped.
“I didn’t refuse this.”
“I know that now.”
She handed me three more.
All returned.
One had been opened and resealed.
My hands began shaking.
“What did the letters say?”
“That I was pregnant.”
“With quadruplets?”
“I didn’t know that until later.”
Mara folded her arms tightly.
“At first, I thought there was one baby.”
“Then two.”
“Then four.”
I stared through the glass doors toward the sleeping boys.
“Why didn’t you find me in person?”
“I tried.”
Her voice cracked.
“Your mother met me outside the townhouse.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What did she say?”
“That you had moved on.”
“That you regretted our relationship.”
“That you knew about the pregnancy and wanted nothing to do with it.”
I shook my head.
“I never knew.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Mara looked directly at me.
“Because six months after the boys were born, I received a letter.”
My throat tightened.
“From who?”
“You.”
“I never wrote to you.”
“I know that now too.”
She reached into the bag again.
This envelope was expensive.
Heavy cream paper.
My initials were embossed at the top.
The signature looked like mine.
Mara handed it to me.
I read the first line.
Mara, please stop contacting my family.
The second line was worse.
Any children resulting from our relationship are your responsibility.
I could not continue.
“That isn’t mine.”
“I believed it was.”
“It isn’t.”
“I spent six years hating you because of that letter.”
I looked at the forged signature.
Someone had studied me carefully.
Someone had wanted Mara gone permanently.
“Why come back to New York now?”
Mara looked toward her sons.
“Because the landlord sold our building.”
“We were evicted.”
“I had eighty-three dollars left yesterday.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“You should have contacted me.”
She laughed once.
Without humor.
“I thought you were the man who told four unborn children they were my responsibility.”
I had no answer.
Then the apartment buzzer sounded.
Mara froze.
It was nearly ten o’clock.
I checked the security screen.
A black sedan waited outside.
My mother stepped out.
And she was not alone.
Harold Vance, the Whitaker family attorney, followed her.
Mara saw them on the monitor.
The color drained from her face.
“No.”
“What?”
May you like
She backed away from the screen.
“Elliot, do not let that man near my children.”
