Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
It was hard saying goodbye to her, but she was so excited, I couldn’t be sad. This was the life she wanted, and I was pleased she was able to grab it and live it. Luc and I took her to the airport, and there were lots of hugs and kisses, a few tears, and then with a carefree wave, she was gone. I knew I’d see her again, but I would miss her. I was grateful Luc was with me, his arm around my waist, holding me close. He had my back, no matter what, and I fell in love with him a little more every day.
He’d been a rock throughout this whole situation. He supported me, even when he wasn’t certain I was making the right choices. His calm demeanor and love were constant. Saying goodbye to him at the airport had been as hard as saying goodbye to Joyce, and he was just going to be gone for a few days. I was going to miss him, even if he was only away such a short time. It felt odd to come back to the townhouse without him. Strange how his presence made the house feel like a home. How quickly I missed him being here with me.
With a sigh, I picked up one of the boxes that held some other items of Luc’s clothing, planning on hanging them in the guest room closet. I needed to stay occupied and not think about my latest argument with Richard. I hadn’t heard from him or anyone else since our vocal disagreement. I had been so rude, I wasn’t sure I ever would. It shocked me how much that idea bothered me.
Not paying attention, I turned too quickly with the box, knocking a picture off my night table. I gasped in dismay as it hit the floor, the glass shattering. I put the box down and bent, picking up the picture. My mom had had it for years. It was her and me in a small collage, starting when I was a baby. The large oval photo in the center was taken when I was around twenty. The smaller ones were over the years growing up. She had loved it and kept it by her bedside. After she passed, I did the same thing, the pictures always a bittersweet memory.
Forgetting Luc’s box, I carried the frame downstairs. Luckily, the glass remained inside the frame, but the wooden edge was damaged. I held it over the garbage can, removing the back and the inner pictures, letting the broken glass fall into the garbage. I inspected the frame, deciding I would have to replace it, then picked up the matted picture, surprised to see a manila envelope tucked between the mounting and the pictures. I set aside the frame, staring at the envelope. My name was written on the front in my mother’s careful, precise script.
I sat down, staring at the envelope. I felt the same odd sensation as the first time I had met Richard. That bubbling, nervous anticipation that what was about to happen would once again change my life. With shaking fingers, I opened the envelope. Inside were two smaller ones. Yellowed with age, one was older than the other, and it had my father’s name written on it. The other was addressed to me and was thicker.
I opened the flap and unfolded the pages, scanning the words. Time stopped around me as I read the contents.
My darling daughter Ashley,
If you are reading this, then I am gone. I had planned to tell you in person, but always seemed to lose my nerve. I am sorry for my cowardice.
When I discovered I was pregnant with you, I was in shock. We were careful, your father always protected, but apparently the universe had another plan for me, and I was chosen to be your mother.
I was overjoyed at the thought. Excited.
I was also deeply in love with a man I knew would never love me back. Your father was a businessman—cold, ruthless, and selfish. He was also charismatic, charming, and fascinating. Smart. Droll, although at times his humor was cutting. There was something about him that drew me to him. An unexpected caring side that he hid so deeply, most people would never see it. It was rare for me to witness it, but on occasion, it broke through. I had hoped that side would take over when I told him about you.
That is where I perpetrated the lie.
Because I never told him.
The pages fluttered from my hand, falling to the floor as I gasped, the meaning of her words sinking in.
She never told him?
My hand shook harder as I picked up the paper and began to read again.
I meant to. I went to his office to do so, but he was away on a business trip. I left a note with his assistant, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew in my heart he wouldn’t have anything to do with us, even if I told him. And by telling him, I would become the thing he despised the most—someone after him for the one thing he had to give freely—his money. I didn’t want his money. I wanted his love and affection, something I knew I would never get. When I was honest with myself, I realized that he was rarely with me, even when he was in the same room. His gaze was vacant, his mind a thousand miles away. He went through the motions, but he was never fully present in the moment. I was a distraction to him, and that was all. I would never be more, because he simply wasn’t capable. He had been up front and honest about that our entire relationship. I simply chose not to listen. The glimpses I had of the man deep inside were only that—glimpses. He would never be that man—at least, not for me.