Chương 4
“Noah was not born yet.”
Daniel struck the counter with his palm.
Not hard.
Still, Noah jumped.
Daniel immediately stepped back.
“Sorry.”
He looked at Noah, not Victoria.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah hugged his stuffed animal closer.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“What happened after he was born?”
Victoria did not answer.
Olivia saw it.
There was more.
Her own anger became fear again.
“What happened after he was born, Mom?”
Victoria’s ring stopped turning.
“I sent you the photograph.”
Daniel frowned.
“What photograph?”
“Of Noah.”
Olivia looked at him.
He looked genuinely confused.
Victoria stood and reached toward the box.
Olivia moved it away.
“Don’t.”
“There are more papers.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped.
“What papers?”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“In the false bottom.”
Noah whispered, “I didn’t see that.”
Of course he had not.
Olivia had forgotten the box had one.
As a child she used to watch her mother press two corners at the same time and lift the velvet lining.
Her fingers remembered.
She pressed.
The bottom released.
Inside were three envelopes.
One had Daniel’s name.
One had Olivia’s.
The third contained printed emails.
Daniel reached for the envelope addressed to him.
It was sealed.
He looked at Victoria.
“You never sent this either?”
“No.”
He opened it.
Olivia watched him read.
The first page contained Victoria’s handwriting.
The second was a photograph.
Noah as a newborn.
Wrapped in the blue hospital blanket.
Daniel sat slowly.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Noah leaned toward him.
“That’s me?”
Daniel nodded.
His eyes had filled.
He seemed irritated by it, as though tears were an inconvenience his body had introduced without permission.
“That’s you.”
“I was tiny.”
“You were.”
“I had more hair.”
A sound escaped Olivia.
Half laugh, half sob.
Noah smiled uncertainly.
Daniel looked at him.
For three seconds the entire night narrowed to the ridiculous amount of hair Noah had possessed as a newborn.
Then Daniel read the letter.
His expression hardened.
“What did you write?” Olivia asked.
He handed it to her.
Victoria’s letter was not a confession.
It was worse.
Daniel,
Olivia has asked that you not contact her again. She believes it is best for the baby if there is no confusion about your role. She is building a stable life and does not want to involve attorneys. I strongly suggest you respect her wishes.
Olivia looked up.
“I never asked you to write this.”
“I know.”
“Did you send him something like this?”
Victoria nodded.
Daniel spoke from the stool.
“Typed. No photograph.”
“And you believed her?”
The question came out sharper than Olivia intended.
Daniel looked at her.
Pain flashed across his face.
“I believed you.”
“I never said it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t call me?”
“I did.”
“How long?”
“Months.”
“How many months?”
“I don’t know, Olivia.”
“Try.”
“Six. Seven.”
“And then?”
“My mother died.”
Olivia went silent.
Daniel looked down at the newborn photograph.
“I had a funeral. I had her house. I owed twelve thousand dollars on medical bills she wasn’t supposed to owe but somehow did. I was working doubles. Your mother sent me a letter saying you would involve a lawyer if I kept contacting you.”
Victoria looked at the floor.
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“I stopped.”
Olivia hated that answer.
Part of her wanted him to have fought forever.
To have ignored every barrier.
To have driven across the country if necessary, broken down doors, demanded proof, behaved like the father he now believed himself to be.
Then she remembered being twenty-four.
She had stopped too.
After Victoria told her Daniel called the pregnancy a mistake, Olivia changed her number.
After three unanswered emails, she stopped sending them.
After Noah was born, she considered reaching out once, at three in the morning, while her newborn screamed against her chest and milk leaked through her shirt.
She did not.
Pride had done some of the work.
Victoria had done the rest.
“Noah needs bed,” Olivia said.
Noah protested immediately.
“No.”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“I’m not tired.”
He looked exhausted.
“Noah.”
“I want to know.”
The simplicity of it stopped her.
Daniel rubbed his mouth.
Victoria began, “He should not be—”
Olivia turned on her.
“You don’t get to decide what he should know anymore.”
Victoria’s face stiffened.
The familiar expression almost comforted Olivia.
There was her mother.
Not frightened.
Offended.
Victoria Hayes had spent decades turning shame into posture.
“Enough for tonight,” Daniel said quietly.
Olivia looked at him.
He seemed older than he had an hour ago.
He crouched beside Noah.
“We’re going to figure out what’s true.”
Noah looked at the photograph in his hand.
“Are you my dad?”
Daniel inhaled.
He could have said yes.
Olivia saw how badly he wanted to.
Instead he said, “I might be.”
Noah’s face fell.
Daniel touched his shoulder.
“This paper says I am. Your grandma says I am. But adults made mistakes before, so we’re going to check. Okay?”
“How?”
“A test.”
“Like at school?”
“Less spelling.”
Noah almost smiled.
Daniel continued, “And whatever that test says, nothing about tonight makes me stop loving you.”
Noah looked at Olivia.
“You too?”
She knelt.
“Especially me.”
“You’re not sending me away?”
The question nearly destroyed her.
She put both hands around his face.
“No. Never because you told me the truth. Never because you found a box. Never because adults did things you didn’t understand.”
His lower lip shook.
“Grandma said—”
“I know.”
Victoria made a soft sound.
Olivia did not look at her.
Daniel took Noah upstairs.
Olivia remained in the kitchen with her mother.
For several minutes neither woman spoke.
Victoria eventually reached for her coat.
“You’re leaving?”
“I think that would be best.”
Olivia laughed.
It came out ugly.
“You always do.”
Victoria’s hand stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you make a decision for everyone and then leave before you have to watch what it does.”
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?”
“I came here tonight.”
“Because Noah’s message disappeared.”
May you like
Victoria looked at her.
Olivia held up the child’s phone.
