Chapter 2 - Thirty-Three Letters
I didn't call Preston from the plane. That might be the hardest thing I've done in years.
Every instinct told me to confront, demand, control — that's how I'd built my entire adult life. A supplier lies, you call. A competitor moves, you counter. A board hesitates, you force the vote.
But Naomi was sitting beside me with our children asleep against her, thirty-three returned letters stacked across my knees, and one of them carried Preston's signature.
I asked quietly, "When did you send the first one?"
She looked out the window. "Two weeks after I found out I was pregnant."
"And the last?"
"Eight months after they were born."
My throat tightened. "You wrote for over a year?"
"Yes."
"Why letters, Naomi? Why not just call?"
"I emailed too."
"What?"
"Your address stopped working."
"That's impossible. It hasn't changed."
"It bounced. About three weeks after we split up."
That made no sense — until I remembered. Preston had taken over my executive communications during the Meridian restructuring, convinced my personal inbox was a security risk after a couple of journalists started digging into my finances. He said he'd route anything important through a protected channel. At the time, I'd thanked him for it.
"Did you call?" I asked.
"Every number I had."
"And?"
"Your office always said you were unavailable. Assistants. Reception. One time, security."
She swallowed hard. "Once, a man told me not to contact you again."
"Name?"
"He never gave one."
I looked down at the letter with Preston's signature on it. "What did you actually write in these?"
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Everything. The pregnancy. The hospital stay. The early labor. The NICU. Nora's heart murmur. Milo needing oxygen support."
My eyes burned. "You sent photos?"
"Yes."
"Ultrasounds?"
"Yes."
"Birth certificates?"
"Yes."
I closed my hands around the bundle. Everything I had believed never existed — it had all existed. It had simply been intercepted before it ever reached me.
Naomi studied my face carefully. "You really didn't know."
It wasn't a question. "No."
Something in her expression shifted for the first time — not forgiveness, just shock.
"What did you think happened to me?" she asked.
I looked down. "We fought."
"That's not an answer."
She was right, and I knew it. Three years earlier, Naomi had walked out after our worst fight — she said I treated every relationship in my life like an acquisition. I told her she resented my success. She said she needed space. I told her to take all the space she wanted.
The next morning, she was gone. Two weeks after that, Preston told me she'd contacted a lawyer about splitting some shared property. Then he told me she'd moved on.
I believed him. Because believing him hurt less than chasing someone who'd already decided to leave.
I told Naomi all of it. Her face changed completely.
"He told you I moved on?"
"Yes."
"He told me you did."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"He said you didn't want a family."
"That's a lie."
"I know that now."
"What exactly did he say?"
She pulled up her phone and scrolled to a screenshot from a number registered to Cole Dynamics.
Julian has made his position clear. He does not wish to reopen the relationship. Please direct any legal or medical communication through counsel.
May you like
Another one, below it: Mr. Cole requests no personal contact.
I stared at the wording. Mr. Cole. Corporate. Cold. Exactly how Preston wrote when he wanted something to sound final.
