Chapter 3
I stared at the folder in Nia's hands.
It was thick.
Worn.
Filled with papers that looked as though they'd been handled a hundred times.
"What is that?"
Nia placed it on the table.
"Everything I tried to do to get my son back."
My stomach tightened.
She opened the folder.
There were letters.
Court filings.
Emails.
Receipts.
Copies of certified mail.
And photographs of Noah from the past four years.
I looked at the pictures.
Noah playing in a park.
Noah standing beside a birthday cake.
Noah wearing a little blue sweater.
Nia had been there.
Somehow, she had watched him grow.
And I had never known.
"Why didn't you contact me directly?" I asked.
She stared at me.
"I did."
I felt cold.
"What?"
She handed me a stack of letters.
Each one was addressed to me.
Marcus Sterling.
Sterling Manor.
Atlanta, Georgia.
Some were marked returned.
Others had delivery confirmations.
I recognized the signature on one receipt.
My mother's assistant.
I swallowed.
"I never saw these."
Nia nodded.
"I know."
Then she handed me an email.
It had been sent to my corporate address.
Subject: Please Let Me See Noah.
I stared.
I remembered receiving hundreds of emails each day.
My assistant filtered them.
My mother supervised certain personal communications.
I had never imagined she would block messages from Noah's mother.
I looked at Nia.
"She intercepted everything."
Nia wiped her eyes.
"Almost everything."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She reached for another document.
"This is the petition I filed when Noah was eight months old."
I read the heading.
PETITION TO ESTABLISH PARENTING TIME.
My heart pounded.
"What happened?"
Nia took a breath.
"Your mother's attorneys argued that I was unstable."
I stared.
"They said I couldn't provide a safe home."
Her voice broke.
"They used photographs of the apartment I rented after leaving the hospital."
I looked down.
The photographs showed a small room.
A mattress.
A folding table.
A kitchenette.
Nothing luxurious.
But clean.
Orderly.
Safe.
I felt ashamed.
Nia continued.
"They told the court I was unemployed."
"Were you?"
"For three months after Noah was born."
I swallowed.
She looked at me.
"I was recovering from childbirth and trying to finish nursing school."
I remembered.
Nia had dreamed of becoming a nurse.
She used to study at the kitchen table after finishing her shifts at our family estate.
Sometimes I helped her with anatomy flashcards.
Sometimes we fell asleep together with textbooks scattered around us.
I had loved those nights.
Then my mother found out about us.
Everything changed.
Nia continued.
"The court ordered temporary arrangements while the case was reviewed."
I looked at the next page.
There were hearing dates.
Continuances.
Requests for documents.
Then a notice indicating that certain proceedings had been delayed.
I frowned.
"Why did it take so long?"
She looked exhausted.
"Because your mother's lawyers challenged everything."
I felt sick.
"And after she died?"
Nia stared at me.
"I tried again."
My heart tightened.
"What happened?"
She handed me another letter.
It was from a law firm representing the Sterling family.
It stated that any direct contact with Noah outside approved arrangements would be treated as harassment.
The letter was dated six months after my mother's death.
I stared at the signature.
A name appeared beneath it.
Charles Whitaker.
Our family attorney.
I recognized it immediately.
He had represented my father.
My mother.
And me.
I looked up.
"Charles sent this?"
Nia nodded.
"Yes."
I felt anger rising.
"I never authorized that."
She looked at me.
"I hoped you hadn't."
I stared at her.
For four years, she had believed I rejected her.
And I had believed she abandoned us.
Two people separated by lies.
And our son had been trapped between them.
Noah shifted on Nia's lap.
He looked tired.
I moved closer.
"Hey, buddy."
He looked at me.
"Daddy?"
I smiled gently.
"Yes?"
"Are you mad at Mommy?"
My heart broke.
I shook my head.
"No, sweetheart."
He looked uncertain.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He relaxed slightly.
Then he reached toward me.
I opened my arms.
He climbed into my lap.
For a moment, I held him tightly.
I could smell his shampoo.
Feel his small hands gripping my jacket.
And I wondered how many nights he had wished for both of us.
I looked toward Nia.
"Why didn't you tell him I was his father?"
She stared at me.
"Marcus, he always knew."
I blinked.
"What?"
She looked at Noah.
"Sweetheart, what did Mommy tell you about Daddy?"
Noah thought for a moment.
"That Daddy loves me."
Tears filled my eyes.
Nia smiled sadly.
"And what else?"
He looked up.
"That grown-ups got confused."
I covered my mouth.
Nia's voice broke.
"I never wanted him to hate you."
I looked at her.
For four years, she had protected my relationship with our son.
Even while believing I had destroyed hers.
I felt something inside me collapse.
"I'm sorry."
She looked down.
I continued.
"Nia, I'm so sorry."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I don't know if sorry is enough."
I nodded.
"It isn't."
We sat silently.
Then my phone rang.
Vanessa.
I ignored it.
A moment later, another call came.
Patricia.
I answered.
"Marcus?"
Her voice sounded furious.
"Where are you?"
"With Noah."
"And that woman?"
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Her name is Nia."
Patricia scoffed.
"Don't start."
I took a breath.
"What do you want?"
"You need to come back to the ballroom. The guests are leaving, and Vanessa is humiliated."
I looked at Nia.
Then at Noah.
My son was resting against my chest.
For once, I knew exactly what mattered.
"Patricia, the wedding is over."
Silence.
Then she shouted, "You can't do that!"
"I just did."
She gasped.
"Marcus, think about the family!"
I closed my eyes.
I had heard those words my entire life.
Think about the family.
Protect the name.
Avoid scandal.
Never embarrass the Sterlings.
I opened my eyes.
"I am thinking about my family."
Then I ended the call.
Nia stared at me.
"You canceled the wedding?"
I nodded.
"I can't marry someone who wanted to send my son away."
She looked down.
I continued.
"And I can't pretend nothing happened to you."
For a moment, her expression softened.
Then she shook her head.
"Marcus, the wedding isn't the only problem."
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
She reached into the folder again.
"There's another reason I came tonight."
I waited.
She handed me a document dated two weeks earlier.
It was a petition requesting an emergency change in Noah's living arrangements.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Marcus Sterling.
I stared at the signature.
It looked exactly like mine.
But I had never signed it.
Then I read the requested change.
The petition sought to place Noah in a private residential program.
And listed Vanessa as the person authorized to make decisions.
May you like
My blood turned cold.
Because someone had tried to use my own signature to take my son away from both his parents.
