Chương 7
Because he could not recover those nights.
Because a promise to stay was something he should have given long ago.
“I said I would.”
She accepted that.
A few minutes later, she fell asleep again.
Roman remained there.
The next morning, his world began fighting back.
The first call came from his security director.
“There is a problem.”
Roman stood in his office while looking through the window at the city below.
“What kind of problem?”
“We found someone accessed the old family records.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“From where?”
The man hesitated.
“That is the issue.”
Roman waited.
“The access came from inside the house.”
He looked across the room.
The door to Sophie’s bedroom was slightly open.
Nora was sitting nearby, helping her draw with colored pencils.
For one second, suspicion moved through his mind.
Then he pushed it away.
Not because he trusted everyone.
Because he had learned the cost of assuming.
“Send me everything.”
“There is more.”
Roman closed his eyes briefly.
“What?”
“The person did not steal financial records.”
A pause.
“They only searched for information about Sophie.”
The room felt colder.
Roman looked at the drawing on the table.
A simple picture.
Three figures holding hands.
A child between two adults.
No mansion.
No money.
No power.
Just a family.
“Find out who accessed it.”
“We are already checking.”
“No.”
Roman’s voice hardened.
“I want to know who had the ability to do it.”
The call ended.
Behind him, Nora spoke quietly.
“You think it was Helena.”
Roman turned.
“I think my mother knows more than she admitted.”
Nora looked at the floor.
“There is something else.”
Roman studied her.
“What?”
Nora hesitated.
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out an old envelope.
“I kept this because I did not know what else to do with it.”
Roman took it.
The envelope was worn from years of being handled.
His name was written on the front.
Not printed.
Written.
His handwriting.
His heart tightened before he even opened it.
“What is this?”
Nora looked toward Sophie’s room.
“The letter you wrote before she was born.”
Roman stared at her.
“I never gave it to you.”
“I know.”
“Then how did you get it?”
Nora looked away.
“Helena gave it to me.”
The answer changed everything.
Roman slowly opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter he barely remembered writing.
A letter to a daughter who had not yet been born.
A promise from a younger version of himself.
A promise he thought had been delivered.
A promise that had somehow ended up hidden.
At the bottom of the page, there was a sentence he had forgotten.
I do not know what kind of father I will be, but I know I will spend my life trying to deserve you.
Roman read it twice.
Then he folded the paper carefully.
Because suddenly the question was no longer only who had taken Sophie away.
It was how many people had worked together to make sure he never found his way back.
Roman kept the letter in his hand long after Nora stopped speaking.
The paper was old, the edges softened from time and handling, but the words still carried the certainty of the man he had been before everything became complicated.
He remembered writing it in a hotel room after a meeting that lasted until sunrise.
He remembered feeling nervous about becoming a father.
He remembered thinking that fear was proof he cared.
What he did not remember was how many people had been standing between him and the promise he made.
“Why did she give this to you?” he asked.
Nora sat down slowly.
“I don’t know.”
Roman looked at her.
“Think.”
She looked frustrated.
“I have spent three years thinking about that night.”
Her voice became quieter.
“I have replayed every conversation, every message, every decision.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“Maybe she wanted me to know you cared.”
Roman frowned.
“That does not make sense.”
“No.”
Nora looked toward Sophie’s room.
“Maybe she wanted me to know you cared while making sure you never had the chance to prove it.”
The answer stayed with him.
Helena had always understood people better than they understood themselves.
She knew where guilt lived.
She knew where fear lived.
She knew exactly which truths to reveal and which ones to bury.
Roman placed the letter on the desk.
“I need to see every message.”
Nora nodded.
“I saved most of them.”
“Most?”
“Some disappeared.”
“From where?”
“My phone.”
Roman looked at her.
“Someone deleted them?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
Nora sighed.
“Roman, I was not living like you.”
He stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I did not have people watching doors.”
She looked around his office.
“I did not have someone protecting my accounts.”
Her eyes moved back to him.
“I was a woman raising a child while everyone around me seemed to know more about my life than I did.”
Roman did not answer.
Because she was right.
He had spent years believing protection meant creating walls.
He had not considered what it felt like to be outside those walls.
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
It was his security director again.
“Tell me.”
“We found the access point.”
Roman waited.
“It came from an old device registered to Helena.”
Nora looked up.
Roman said nothing for several seconds.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the device?”
“That is the problem.”
Roman walked toward the window.
“Explain.”
“It was reported destroyed two years ago.”
A cold feeling moved through him.
“Reported by who?”
There was a pause.
“Helena.”
Roman closed his eyes.
A lie inside another lie.
That was how his mother operated.
Not by creating one perfect story.
By creating enough small stories that nobody could see the whole picture.
“Find the device.”
“We are looking.”
“No.”
Roman’s voice became sharper.
“I want the person who has it.”
The call ended.
May you like
Nora watched him.
“You are going after her.”
