Chapter 6 - THE LETTER THAT NEVER REACHED HIM
"You received my ultrasound photograph?"
I stared at Nathan's hand.
The photograph was creased along one corner.
The paper had yellowed slightly.
But there was no mistaking it.
Two little shapes.
Two heartbeats.
The first picture of Oliver and Benjamin.
"I never mailed that," I whispered.
Nathan looked confused.
"Then how did it reach me?"
I took the envelope.
The handwriting was mine.
But the address was not.
Someone had typed the destination onto a label.
The envelope had been routed through Cole Development's corporate mailroom.
I remembered putting that photograph inside my grandmother's jewelry box with the anniversary card.
Later, after the boys were born, I had moved several keepsakes into a storage container.
I had assumed the photograph was still there.
"Who gave this to you?" I asked.
Nathan lowered his voice.
"Chloe."
I looked up sharply.
"She told me it had been found among paperwork from our old apartment."
"Our penthouse?"
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"I took that photograph with me."
Nathan studied my face.
"Then someone must have removed it from your things."
I remembered something.
During my pregnancy, Mom had shipped my remaining belongings from Evanston to Margaret's farmhouse.
One box had arrived with its packing tape damaged.
Mom had assumed it happened during shipping.
I hadn't thought about it again.
Nathan touched the photograph.
"When Chloe brought this to me, she said you had suffered a miscarriage."
The room seemed to tilt.
"What?"
"She said you'd been pregnant when you left. That you lost the baby and didn't want me contacted."
I stared at him.
"You believed that?"
He looked ashamed.
"She showed me a message she said came from your attorney."
"Caroline never sent anything like that."
"I know that now."
His voice cracked.
"Or I'm beginning to."
I took a slow breath.
Nathan had believed he had lost a child.
I had believed he wanted nothing to do with mine.
And Chloe had occupied the space between those beliefs.
But one question remained.
"Why would she do that?"
Nathan looked toward the entrance.
"Because she wanted me to marry her."
My chest tightened.
"You married Chloe?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"We were together for a few months after you left."
I turned away.
He didn't try to soften it.
"I thought you were finished with me. I was angry, ashamed, and stupid enough to believe that made what I did acceptable."
"And then?"
"I ended things when I realized she was making decisions in my name."
"What decisions?"
"Personal ones. Messages to my mother. Appointments. Financial requests. She started telling people we were engaged."
I stared at him.
"We weren't," he added.
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
He shook his head.
"I'm trying to tell you the truth."
Across the room, Oliver laughed at something Mom said.
Nathan looked toward the sound.
His expression changed.
"I missed everything."
I swallowed.
"Yes."
"Did Oliver walk first?"
"Benjamin."
Nathan smiled faintly.
"Really?"
"Oliver talked first. Benjamin watched everything."
He listened as though each word were something precious.
Then he asked, "Can I see them again?"
I hesitated.
"Not without a plan."
"Anything you need."
"Don't promise things you haven't thought through."
He nodded.
"You're right."
We agreed to begin with a meeting through a family counselor experienced in reunification.
The boys would learn the truth gradually.
Nathan would not arrive at their home making dramatic promises.
And I would not let my anger decide their future without considering what they needed.
For the first time since our marriage ended, we were speaking like two adults who understood the consequences of their choices.
Then Nathan said something that changed the conversation.
"Emily, there's something else."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"When I found out about the pregnancy photograph, I went to the apartment we used to share."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"I wanted to understand whether you'd left anything behind."
He hesitated.
"I found the anniversary dinner bag."
My breath caught.
The bag.
I had carried it out of his office.
I remembered setting it in my car.
But after that night, everything blurred.
"I thought I'd thrown it away," I said.
"You left it in the garage beside the elevator."
"What did you find?"
"The food was spoiled. But the card was still inside."
My eyes widened.
"The anniversary card?"
He nodded.
"I read it."
I felt an unexpected rush of embarrassment.
That card belonged to a woman who had still believed her marriage could be saved.
Nathan reached into his coat again.
He handed me a folded sheet.
It wasn't the card.
It was a receipt from the little French restaurant where I'd bought our anniversary dinner.
On the back, in neat blue handwriting, someone had written:
If Emily learns what happened to the Harrison account, she will never forgive either of us.
I stared at the sentence.
"Who wrote this?"
May you like
Nathan's face hardened.
"My father."
