Chapter 6
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Jordan sitting alone with those letters.
A fourteen-year-old boy wondering whether his father had ever loved him.
I understood what that kind of doubt could do to a child.
I had watched it happen to Lily.
I refused to make the same mistake with Jordan.
But I also knew I couldn't rush into his mother's house and demand answers.
Jordan needed support.
Not another adult war.
The next morning, I called Patricia.
"Could you stay with Lily for a few hours?"
"Of course."
Alicia was still in town, and she joined Patricia in the kitchen.
I explained that I wanted to speak with Jordan somewhere neutral, provided Denise agreed.
Alicia looked concerned.
"Be careful, Marcus."
"I will."
"Jordan's already caught between two homes."
"I know."
She touched my arm.
"Then make sure he doesn't feel like he has to choose between you and his mother."
Those words stayed with me.
I texted Denise asking if Jordan and I could meet at a café near her mother's neighborhood.
To my surprise, she agreed.
But she insisted on attending.
That was fine.
I had nothing to hide.
When I arrived, Jordan was sitting near the window.
He looked exhausted.
Denise sat beside him, scrolling through her phone.
I ordered hot chocolate for Jordan.
The same thing I had ordered for him after every winter basketball game.
He managed a weak smile.
"Thanks."
I sat across from them.
"How have you been?"
"Okay."
Denise didn't look up.
"He's fine."
I kept my attention on Jordan.
"School?"
"Fine."
"Basketball?"
He shrugged.
I could tell he wanted to say more.
But not with his mother watching.
Then he asked quietly, "Can I visit Lily?"
"Of course, if your mom approves and we arrange it."
Denise finally looked up.
"We'll see."
Jordan stared into his cup.
"Mom, I miss them."
"You have me."
"I know."
"Then that should be enough."
I felt a familiar anger rising.
But I kept my voice calm.
"Loving one person doesn't mean he loves another person less."
Denise glared at me.
"Don't lecture me about parenting."
Jordan suddenly spoke.
"Then stop making me feel guilty."
Both of us turned toward him.
His hands were trembling.
"I love you, Mom. But I love Lily too."
Denise's expression hardened.
"Nobody said you couldn't."
"You said she's not my sister."
"Jordan—"
"And you said Mr. Marcus doesn't want me anymore."
I leaned forward.
"That isn't true."
His eyes filled.
"Then why does everyone keep telling me people are leaving?"
Nobody answered.
He reached into his backpack.
And pulled out a folded letter.
Denise went pale.
"Where did you get that?"
"Grandma's drawer."
"Jordan, give it to me."
He held it against his chest.
"No."
"That's private."
"It has my name on it."
I watched Denise struggle to control her expression.
Jordan opened the letter.
His voice shook as he read.
Dear Jordan,
I came to your school today, but I wasn't allowed to see you. I hope you know I'm still trying. I love you more than you'll ever understand.
Love, Dad.
Jordan looked at his mother.
"You said he never came."
Denise's lips parted.
"He caused problems."
"You said he forgot my birthdays."
"Jordan, your father wasn't a good husband."
"That wasn't my question."
The café fell quiet.
I wanted to take his pain away.
But I couldn't answer for Denise.
She looked at me with open hatred.
"This is your fault."
"No," Jordan whispered.
We both turned toward him.
"This isn't his fault."
He wiped his face.
"I just want the truth."
Denise stood abruptly.
"We're leaving."
Jordan didn't argue.
He carefully folded the letter and placed it back inside his backpack.
Before he left, he looked at me.
"Mr. Marcus?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Will you still answer if I call?"
"Every time I can."
He nodded.
Then followed his mother outside.
I stayed at the table long after they disappeared.
I felt helpless.
But that evening, something unexpected happened.
My phone rang.
The caller introduced himself as Anthony Walker.
Jordan's father.
"I understand you've been helping raise my son," he said.
I stood.
"Yes."
"I'm not calling to cause trouble."
"Then why are you calling?"
His voice trembled.
"Because Jordan contacted me today."
I sat back down.
"He did?"
"He found my old letters and got my number from one of them."
I closed my eyes.
Anthony continued.
"I haven't spoken to him properly in years. I tried, Marcus. I made mistakes, but I tried."
I listened.
He explained that he had moved to Richmond after losing his job several years earlier.
He admitted he had struggled financially.
He had missed scheduled visits.
He had not always handled his responsibilities well.
But he denied abandoning Jordan.
"I sent letters. I called. Sometimes I got responses. Sometimes I didn't."
"Did you go back to court?"
"Twice. Then I ran out of money."
I didn't know whether everything he said was true.
But he sounded devastated.
"I don't want to take Jordan away from anyone," Anthony said. "I just want him to know I love him."
I thought of the boy sitting in the café, clutching his father's letter.
"He deserves to know that."
Anthony was quiet.
Then he said, "There's something else."
"What?"
"Denise contacted me six months ago."
My pulse quickened.
"About Jordan?"
"Yes. She asked whether I'd sign documents giving up any future claim to custody."
I gripped the phone.
"Why?"
"She said she was planning to move overseas with a new husband."
I stared at the wall.
"Overseas?"
"That's what she said."
I remembered the money transfers.
The secret account.
The false paperwork.
The unexplained transportation booking.
Suddenly, the vacation tickets looked like one small part of something much bigger.
Anthony spoke again.
"Marcus, I don't think your wife was planning a family vacation."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Then what was she planning?"
May you like
He answered quietly.
"I think she was planning to leave you."
