“Oh—I’m so sorry. I really should go. Thank you for letting me stop by.”
Scarlett sets her glass down, nodding. “Of course. You’re welcome anytime.”
Aurora waves from the swing. “Bye!”
I force myself to wave back, my throat tight. “Bye, sweetheart.”
I hug Scarlett briefly before heading back toward my car. My heart hammers the whole way. Because no matter how calm my smile looks, inside, I know I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. My chest rises and falls too quickly, my phone with the photo still burning like fire in my pocket.
I start the engine, ready to put this house in the rearview mirror, when a sharp knock on the window makes me jump so hard I almost scream.
My head whips to the side, Scarlett’s face.
For a split second, my stomach plunges.She knows. She saw.
I fumble for the window switch, forcing a shaky smile as it lowers. “Oh, Scarlett, you scared me.”
She holds out the box of honey, her expression easy. “You almost forgot the honey you came for.”
Relief floods me so fast I nearly laugh. “Right. Thank you.”
Scarlett passes it through the window with a warm nod before stepping back.
I clutch it like a lifeline, managing another smile as I put the car in gear. But as I drive off, the sweetness of the honey feels like a weight in my lap, thick, golden, and heavy with guilt.
By the time I step back into my apartment, the silence feels heavier than it should. Scarlett’s perfume still clings faintly to my sweater. My hands tremble as I set my phone down on the counter, Ivy’s photo still glowing across the screen.
I drop into the chair at my small kitchen table, the wood cold against my bare arms. The laptop feels heavier than usual when I open it, like it knows the weight of what I’m about to do. My fingers hover uselessly above the keys, suspended between fear and urgency.
The room feels tight, like the walls are leaning closer with every second I hesitate. My heart races as I clicknew message. The screen is too bright against the dim light, and I squint, blinking back tears as I type his name in the address bar:Nathan.
Subject line: URGENT.
The cursor blinks, waiting, pulsing like a heartbeat I can’t control. My chest aches as I drag Aurora’s photo into the body of the email. Her eyes, bright, innocent, so achingly familiar, stare back at me. I can’t stop my fingers from trembling.
I start typing, the words pouring out raw and uneven:
I don’t know if you’ll even read this. But you need to see this. Please, Nathan… open this attachment. Please look at her.
The words blur as tears streak down my cheeks, dotting the keyboard. My breaths come fast, shallow, as if the air itself has turned too thin to keep me steady.
For a long moment, I just stare, unable to push myself over the edge. Afraid of what it will mean if he ignores this.
My finger hovers above the trackpad, my whole body trembling with the force of my hope and fear colliding. Then, with a sharp inhale, I presssend.
The whoosh of the email leaving feels final, slicing through the quiet. And then, nothing. Just the heavy silence of my apartment, the hollow ache of waiting, and the knowledge that this could be his daughter and the answer to everything he has been looking for.
Chapter 39
Nathan
I’ve been staring at the screen for so long, it’s lost any meaning. Ten minutes. An hour. The numbers don’t feel real anymore.
The knock comes once. Then the door opens anyway.
Bishop steps in with two coffees and that look he gets when he’s already preparing for bad news.
