Chapter 2: The Letter She Never Received
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“Your mother has our son?””
Nia nodded.
“That's what I believed.””
“Where did you get this?””
“I wrote it.””
“Why didn't you send it?””
“I did.””
She reached for the letter, but I held on to it.
“Tell me what happened.””
Nia looked toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the city glittered beneath the night sky. Cars moved along the streets like tiny streams of light.
She took a slow breath.
“The accident happened on October seventeenth. Do you remember?””
I nodded.
I remembered every detail.
Nia had been driving home from her sister's apartment. It had been raining heavily. Her car had collided with a delivery truck on the highway.
My mother had called me at 11:40 p.m.
She had been crying so violently that I could barely understand her.
“Marcus,” she'd said.
“It's Nia. There has been an accident.””
I had been in Chicago for a corporate acquisition.
I chartered the earliest flight home.
But by the time I arrived, my mother told me Nia had died.
Now the woman I had buried was sitting three feet away.
“What happened after the crash?”” I asked.
Nia rubbed her palms together.
“I remember the headlights. The rain. The sound of glass breaking. Then nothing.””
She paused.
“When I woke up, I was in a private clinic.””
“What clinic?””
“I don't know. I never saw the name.””
“Who brought you there?””
“Your mother.””
I stood.
“Why would she take you to a clinic instead of a hospital?””
“Because she didn't want anyone asking questions.””
My stomach turned.
Nia continued.
“I had a concussion. Several broken ribs. My left leg was fractured.
I couldn't remember everything at first. I kept asking for you.””
“What did she say?””
Nia looked directly at me.
“She told me you were dead.””
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“What?””
“She said your car had been involved in another accident while you were driving to see me. She told me you hadn't survived.””
I shook my head.
“That never happened.””
“I know that now.””
She wiped her cheek.
“But I was medicated. I couldn't stand. I couldn't use my phone. And every time I asked for you, she told me there was nothing left to wait for.””
I sat beside her.
“What about the baby?””
Nia stared at her hands.
“They told me he was delivered while I was unconscious.””
“Who told you?””
“Your mother.””
“And the doctors?””
“She said the baby had died.””
“Did you see him?””
“No.””
“Did you see a body?””
She shook her head.
“Did you see a death certificate?””
“No.””
My jaw tightened.
“Then how did you know he was dead?””
Nia's voice cracked.
“I didn't. But I was trapped in a room, barely able to walk, and the only person telling me what was happening was your mother.””
I looked down at the letter.
“Why didn't she let you contact me?””
“Because she told me you didn't want me.””
I stared at her.
“She said you had discovered things about my past. She said you were ashamed of marrying me.””
“That is insane.””
“She showed me documents.””
“What documents?””
“A divorce agreement.””
My heart stopped.
Nia reached into another pocket and produced a small photograph.
It showed a document bearing my name.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I looked at it.
Then I looked again.
It was my signature.
Or something very close to it.
“I never signed this.””
“I know that now.””
“How?””
“Because I asked her to explain one of the clauses. She became furious. She said I had no right to question anything.””
Nia gave a shaky breath.
“Then she told me that if I tried to contact you, she would make sure I never saw Daniel.””
I stared at her.
“She admitted he was alive?””
“Not directly. But she said something that made me believe it.””
“What?””
Nia's eyes filled again.
“She said, ‘A mother who loves her child knows when to let go.’”
I closed my eyes.
My mother had spent years teaching me that love meant sacrifice.
She had raised me alone after my father died.
She had worked two jobs to put me through college.
She had attended every school event, every business dinner, every important moment.
I had believed I owed her everything.
But there was one thing I had never considered.
What if she had been using that debt to control me?
“What happened when you left the clinic?”” I asked.
Nia shifted uncomfortably.
“She arranged an apartment for me in another town. She paid the rent for three months. Then the money stopped.””
“Where did you go?””
“I worked wherever I could. Cleaning offices. Washing dishes. Eventually, I got a job at the Grand Regency.””
“You've been working here?””
“For eleven months.””
I stared at her uniform.
Eleven months.
She had been serving food and clearing tables in the same hotel where I hosted business meetings.
How many times had I walked past her without knowing?
“How long have you known I was still alive?””
“Almost two years.””
“Why didn't you come to me?””
She reached into her pocket again.
This time, she pulled out a small black envelope.
“I did.””
She placed it in my hand.
Inside was a photograph of me standing outside Carter Holdings.
Someone had drawn a red circle around my face.
On the back, in unfamiliar handwriting, were the words:
If you approach him, Daniel disappears.
I looked up.
“Who sent this?””
“I don't know. It was pushed under my apartment door.””
“When?””
“Four months ago.””
I stood and walked to the window.
The city suddenly seemed hostile.
Every car. Every building. Every shadow.
Someone had been watching her.
Someone knew she was alive.
Someone knew about Daniel.
I took out my phone and called my attorney, David Bennett.
He answered on the second ring.
“Marcus? It's late. Is everything all right?””
“No. I need you at my penthouse tonight.””
“What's happened?””
“My wife is alive.””
Silence.
Then David said, “I'm sorry?””
“Nia. The woman we buried three years ago. She's alive.””
“Marcus, are you sure?””
“I'm looking at her.””
He exhaled.
“I'm coming.””
“One more thing. I need you to investigate every medical record, death certificate, insurance claim, and property transfer connected to the accident.””
“Understood.””
“And David?””
“Yes?””
“Find out whether I have a son.””
When I ended the call, Nia was staring at me.
“Marcus, there's something else.””
I turned.
“What?””
“The night I was released from the clinic, your mother gave me something.””
She reached inside her uniform and produced a small hospital bracelet.
It was faded and yellowed with age.
A name had been printed across it.
*BABY BOY CARTER.*
Beneath the name was a birth date.
October eighteenth.
The day after the accident.
I took the bracelet.
My fingers trembled.
Then I noticed something written on the reverse side.
A handwritten note.
Transferred to private care — Guardian: Eleanor Carter.
I looked at Nia.
“Your mother took him,” she whispered.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
It showed a little boy sitting at a dining table, wearing a blue sweater.
He had dark hair.
Brown eyes.
And a small dimple on his left cheek.
My cheek.
Below the photograph was a message.
*STOP ASKING ABOUT THE BOY. YOUR MOTHER IS STILL PROTECTING HIM.*
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
*ASK HER WHY SHE CHOSE YOU TO BE HIS FATHER.*
