Chapter 2 - They're YoursI returned to seat 3A because federal aviation regulations achieved what employees, attorneys, and investors rarely could: they made Julian Ashford follow instructions.
As the aircraft climbed above the clouds, I watched Simone through the narrow space between the seats. She sat between the children, gently smoothing Wesley's hair while the little girl leaned against her shoulder. In that moment, I imagined everything I might have missed — first steps, fevers, bedtime stories, Christmas mornings, drawings hanging crookedly on a refrigerator. All the ordinary moments I had once considered insignificant suddenly seemed like the substance of life itself.
When the seat-belt light finally went dark, I walked back. There was an empty aisle seat beside Simone.
"May I sit?"
"No."
Wesley looked up at her. "Mommy."
Simone closed her eyes and moved the girl farther onto her lap. "Five minutes."
I sat beside her. "I need the truth."
She looked toward the children before finally meeting my eyes. "They're yours."
The sounds inside the aircraft seemed to disappear. I looked at Wesley, then toward the little girl.
"Both of them?"
A short, bitter laugh escaped Simone. "They're twins, Julian."
"When were they born?"
"March seventeenth. Eleven weeks early." She glanced down toward the girl. "Josephine weighed two pounds, three ounces. Wesley was just under three pounds."
I struggled to find my next question. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Simone stared at me, and slowly her anger changed into disbelief. "You truly don't know."
"Know what?"
She reached beneath the seat and lifted a worn leather bag onto her lap. From inside, she removed a bundle of envelopes tied together with a faded blue ribbon. There were more than thirty. Every single one was addressed to me — at Ashford headquarters, my former apartment, even a hotel in Geneva where I had spent two weeks negotiating a merger.
Nearly every envelope carried the same stamped message: RETURN TO SENDER.
"I wrote thirty-three letters," she said. "I called. I sent emails. I went to your building when I was six months pregnant, and security escorted me back outside."
"I never told them to do that."
"Three weeks later, a man from your family office delivered this to me."
She handed me a letter printed on Ashford stationery. The signature resembled mine, but the J curved inward, an imperfection from an old signature plate previously used by my father's office. The letter stated that I had learned about the pregnancy, wanted no involvement in the children's lives, and would provide financial assistance if Simone agreed not to contact me again.
Attached was a check for four million dollars issued by the Ashford Family Trust. It had never been deposited.
"I didn't write this."
"It carries your signature."
"A reproduced version of it. Who delivered it?"
"An older man named Bertram."
I recognized the name immediately. Bertram Locke had worked as my father's private counsel for twenty-five years. The check had been authorized by Reginald Ashford.
My father.
"He knew," I said quietly.
Simone studied my expression. "I believed all of you knew."
"I knew nothing."
"Then someone went to considerable effort to keep us separated."
Josephine shifted against Simone and gently rubbed one ear. When I asked how she was doing, Simone paused before answering.
"She's doing well now."
"That wasn't what I meant."
"During her first month, she had two episodes where her breathing became difficult. The second happened after an infection wasn't identified as early as everyone hoped."
The cabin suddenly felt much smaller. "You handled all of that alone?"
"Not completely. Someone helped us."
"Who?"
Simone turned her gaze away. "Someone who believed the children deserved every opportunity, even if their father wasn't there."
I reacted, and she immediately seemed to regret saying it. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Considering what you were given, you had every reason to believe that."
Wesley leaned closer to me. "Are you rich?"
"Wesley," Simone sighed.
"Mommy says asking that is rude."
"She's right," I said.
He lowered his voice. "Do you have a dinosaur?"
Despite everything happening around us, I laughed. "No."
He appeared genuinely disappointed. "Then what do you buy?"
"Companies."
Wesley frowned. "That sounds boring."
Simone's mouth almost formed a smile. A moment later, Josephine dropped her rabbit. I caught it and offered it back.
"What's her name?"
"His name is Oliver," Josephine whispered.
"My mistake. Hello, Oliver."
May you like
She accepted the rabbit from me, and her tiny smile reached a place inside my chest I had kept carefully guarded for years.
My daughter. I had a daughter and a son, and they had been part of this world for nearly three years while I hadn't even known their names.
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