Chapter 2
I tore open the envelope so violently that the paper ripped down one side.
Inside was a folded letter, a faded photograph, and a small stack of documents held together with a rubber band.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the letter.
The first line made my chest tighten.
My dearest Nia,
If you are reading this, I have failed to reach you for far too long.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
The words blurred as tears gathered in my eyes.
I had imagined my father writing me a thousand letters over the years. In those fantasies, he always apologized, explained everything, and promised that he had never stopped loving me.
But this letter was dated nine years earlier.
September 14.
Three months after he supposedly abandoned us.
I kept reading.
I have called your mother's number every day this week. I have sent letters to the house and asked to speak to you through relatives. I am being told that you do not want to see me.
My stomach twisted.
That wasn't what I remembered.
When I was eleven, I had waited beside the living-room window every Friday because my father had promised to visit.
He never came.
Eventually, my mother told me he had chosen a new life.
I swallowed hard and continued.
I don't know what you have been told about me. I only know that I love you, and I will keep trying until someone allows me to explain.
The letter ended with his signature.
David Carter.
My father.
I lowered the paper.
“Mom?”
She covered her mouth with one hand.
“Why does he say he tried to contact me?”
Her shoulders shook.
“I can explain.”
“Then explain!”
Marcus stood, but I raised my hand toward him.
“Don't. Not one word from you.”
He stopped immediately.
I hated how naturally he obeyed me, as though he had been expecting this moment for years.
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“Your father and I had a terrible divorce. We were both angry. There were things between us that you were too young to understand.”
“That doesn't explain the letters.”
She looked away.
I grabbed the stack of documents and spread them across the table.
The first was a printed email.
The sender was my father.
The recipient was my mother.
The date was October 2, nine years earlier.
The message was short.
Angela, please let me speak to my daughter. I have called repeatedly, but my number appears to be blocked. I am willing to meet wherever you feel comfortable. Please don't punish Nia for what happened between us.
My vision blurred.
Beneath it was another email.
Then another.
And another.
Some were polite.
Others were desperate.
One included a photograph of my father standing outside my elementary school.
He was holding a birthday present.
My eleventh birthday.
The date was clearly printed beneath the picture.
I remembered that birthday.
I remembered sitting in my bedroom until midnight, waiting for him to call.
He had been there.
He had actually been there.
My knees weakened, and I grabbed the edge of the table.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
My mother began sobbing.
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what? That I might love my own father?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
She pressed both hands against her chest.
“I thought he would take you away from me.”
The words landed like a slap.
I stared at her.
“You let me believe he didn't want me because you were afraid of losing me?”
She couldn't answer.
Marcus moved toward us, but I stepped back.
“Did you help her?”
His expression was miserable.
“Nia, I—”
“Did you know she was keeping him away?”
He nodded slowly.
The room seemed to disappear around me.
I had trusted Marcus with things I had never told anyone else. I had cried in his arms after my first heartbreak. I had called him from college when I thought I was going to fail my exams.
And he had known.
He had known that I was spending my life hating a man who had been trying to reach me.
“How long?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Since before I married your mother.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“So you married her knowing this?”
“Yes.”
“And then you stood in my father's place while I believed he had abandoned me?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I never tried to replace him.”
“You let me call you Dad when I was little.”
“You did that yourself.”
“And you let me believe he didn't care!”
“I know.”
His quiet agreement made my anger explode.
“You knew I cried over him! You knew I kept every birthday card he ever sent me! You watched me blame myself for years!”
Marcus bowed his head.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Don't call me that!”
He flinched.
I had never seen him look so small.
My mother reached for me.
I stepped away from her too.
“I'm done.”
“Nia, please.”
“I need to find him.”
My mother went pale.
“He may not want to see you.”
I looked down at the photograph of my father outside my school.
“He waited for me outside my school.”
“That was years ago.”
“He sent letters.”
She said nothing.
“He tried to reach me.”
My voice broke.
“And you made me believe I wasn't worth the effort.”
I gathered the documents, shoved them into the envelope, and headed toward the stairs.
Marcus called after me.
“Nia, please let me explain my part.”
I turned around.
“Your part?”
He nodded, tears running freely down his face.
“There is something else you need to know.”
I stared at him.
“What could possibly be worse than this?”
He looked at my mother.
She shook her head frantically.
“Marcus, don't.”
But he had already made his decision.
“The last time your father came to this house, I was the one who told him to leave.”
My heart stopped.
I clutched the envelope against my chest.
“Why?”
May you like
Marcus opened his mouth.
And for the first time in my life, I realized the man I had trusted most might have been the person who destroyed my family.
