Jamie’s trying to tell me something, and he isn’t using his father this time. It’ll be bad, that much is for sure, but could it be worse than hiding from him for the rest of my life?
No.
I need to take my own advice.
I need to read the letter.
Bite the bullet…rip the Band-Aid, or whatever other cliché there is about getting this over with.
Before I change my mind, I head over to the dresser and pull out the sparkling pink envelope. My hands are shaking so much, I can’t read my name written across it, but I push through.
I need to do this. If not for me, for Ella. It’s her father, after all.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I give myself a moment to gain some composure. When my hands are a little less shaky, I run my fingers across the front, feeling the tiny pebbling of the ink under my touch.
It’s oddly intimate, and the closest I’ve been to Jamie since that night.
Flipping the envelope over, I slide a nail under the seal and pull out the thick, expensive paper, surprised at how long it is.
No one has ever written me a letter before, let alone one that’s over two pages.
With a deep breath, I find the start and read.
Tiff,
I’ve had some of the best education in the world, yet I still can’t figure out how to start this letter to you. In fact, this is the tenth attempt, and I’m starting to think I’m going to need an eleventh one too.
I’m sorry.
I guess that’s the best and only way to start this, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It never will.
I’m sorry you were left to deal with all of this on your own. I’m sorry my father has been trying to manipulate you since he found out about our daughter. I’m sorry I didn’t get your number before you left that night. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed someone the most.
In all honesty, it’s because I didn’t know you were pregnant. I didn’t know you had a child. I didn’t think you even thought of me after that night.
I thought of you, though… a lot. More than I’d like to admit.
You were, and still are, the only good thing that happened to me.
I know you have no reason to believe that after all these years of silence and my father’s lawsuit, but it’s the truth.
I found out about you six months ago when I was snooping through my father’s office, looking for some other files. There was one with your name on it, and a picture fell out. When I picked the picture up, I realized it was of you, Zach, and the most beautiful child I’d ever seen.
For a second, I thought my father was blackmailing Zach, so I went through the files. Hundreds of legal documents were in there; all forged with my signature and a DNA test I never consented to.
It all led me to the same conclusion.
I have a daughter that I’d never met before, and when I looked at her picture again, I couldn’t take it.
She was mine, and my father was trying to hide it.
When I confronted him about it, he didn’t even try to deny it. He just laid it out to me like it was a legal brief.
You’d had my child. He’d tried to buy your silence. You refused, so you became a liability.
I was furious. He never even said her name. Not once. Just called her “that child,” like she was nothing more than a legal complication.
The anger turned inward quickly, and I blame myself for all of this. After that night, I should’ve gone looking for you. I shouldn’t have given you a fake name, because how were you supposed to find me?