The first thing I pull out is a thick stack of papers, folded neatly.I smooth them open, my brows furrowing.
Legal documents.
The words Copyright Transfer Agreement stare back at me, official and cold, stamped with dates and signatures—Joel’s and someone else’s, probably his lawyer’s.
My pulse jumps.
I scan the details, my brain sluggishly piecing them together.
He signed over everything.
Every right.Every royalty.Every single cent the song has ever made.
My fingers tighten around the pages.
What the hell?
Something slips free from between the documents, landing on my lap.
I blink.
A check.
The number printed across it makes my stomach drop.
My breath catches, my mind struggling to wrap around the figure staring back at me.
This isn’t some small payout.This isn’t a token sum to clear his conscience.
This is hundreds of thousands of dollars.
My fingers tremble as I grip the edges, like the weight of it might be too much to hold.
There’s a sticky note attached.
Anna,
This is what I owe you.It should have always been yours.
—Joel
I press my lips together, pulse pounding.
This isn’t just an apology.
This is a debt paid in full.
I grip the check so tightly the paper creases under my fingers.
This is too much.
Too real.
Too final.
My heart lurches, and I hate that I feel anything at all.
I press my lips together, forcing my breath steady.