Chapter 3 - The Letter That Never Reached Him
Anne opened her eyes twenty-one hours after surgery.
Matthew was there when it happened.
He had spent the night at Mercy General.
His assistants had brought him fresh clothes.
His board had been informed that all meetings were canceled indefinitely.
For the first time in fourteen years, Matthew Sullivan had disappeared from the corporate world without explanation.
Sarah was asleep on the sofa in Anne’s private hospital room.
Luna rested beneath her chin.
Matthew sat near the window reading reports on his tablet when he heard a faint sound.
“Sarah…”
He looked up.
Anne’s eyes were open.
Matthew stood so quickly that the tablet fell onto the chair.
“Anne.”
Her gaze moved toward him.
For several seconds, she looked confused.
Then recognition hit.
Her entire body tensed.
“Matthew?”
He moved closer.
“You’re in Mercy General.”
She tried to sit up.
Pain stopped her.
“Sarah.”
“She’s safe.”
Anne looked around wildly.
“Where?”
Matthew pointed.
Sarah slept only a few feet away.
The moment Anne saw her daughter, she collapsed back against the pillow.
Tears filled her eyes.
“She’s okay?”
“She doesn’t have a scratch.”
Anne covered her face.
A broken sob escaped her.
Matthew pressed the nurse button.
Anne turned toward him again.
“What are you doing here?”
The question hurt more than he expected.
“I heard your name.”
She stared at him.
“That’s all it took?”
Matthew frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Anne looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Anne.”
“Please.”
Her voice was weak.
“I don’t have the strength for this.”
A nurse entered.
The next fifteen minutes were filled with medical questions.
Pain assessments.
Medication.
Vital signs.
Sarah eventually woke.
“Mommy!”
She flew from the sofa.
Anne opened her arms.
“Careful,” the nurse warned.
Sarah stopped herself just before climbing onto the bed.
Instead, she pressed her face gently against Anne’s hand.
“I brought my dolls to pay for your operation.”
Anne stared at her.
“What?”
“The hospital didn’t want them.”
Sarah pointed toward Matthew.
“But he paid.”
Anne’s eyes moved toward him.
Something complicated appeared on her face.
Gratitude.
Fear.
Anger.
Maybe all three.
“You paid?”
Matthew nodded.
“You can repay me by getting better.”
Anne’s expression hardened.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want your charity.”
“This isn’t charity.”
“Then what is it?”
Matthew didn’t answer.
Sarah looked between them.
“You’re fighting.”
“No,” Anne said immediately.
“Yes,” Matthew said at the same time.
Sarah frowned.
Matthew almost smiled.
Anne didn’t.
“Sarah,” she said softly, “can you ask the nurse if they have apple juice?”
The nurse understood immediately.
“I think we can find some.”
Sarah followed her into the hallway.
The moment the door closed, Anne turned toward Matthew.
“You need to leave.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
“You don’t get to tell me no.”
“And you don’t get to disappear again without explaining anything.”
Anne laughed.
The sound was bitter.
“I disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot possibly be serious.”
“I looked for you.”
Her face went still.
“What?”
“I called your number for months.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I went to your apartment.”
“You knew where I was.”
“I had no idea.”
Anne stared at him as though she couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry.
Then she whispered, “You really don’t know.”
A chill ran through Matthew.
“Know what?”
Anne looked toward the hallway.
“Not here.”
“Anne.”
“Sarah could come back.”
Matthew lowered his voice.
“Is Sarah my daughter?”
The words hung between them.
Anne closed her eyes.
That was his answer.
Matthew took one step backward.
His hand found the chair behind him.
“No.”
Anne said nothing.
“Tell me.”
Her eyes opened.
“Matthew—”
“Tell me.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
The room disappeared.
Matthew could hear his heartbeat.
Nothing else.
Sarah.
Five years old.
His daughter.
He thought about her broken shoelace.
The cardboard box.
The dolls.
Her standing alone at a hospital desk offering everything she owned to save her mother.
His daughter.
Matthew turned away because suddenly breathing had become difficult.
“You knew.”
Anne’s voice broke.
“Of course I knew.”
“And you never told me?”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“I tried.”
Matthew turned back.
“What?”
“I tried to tell you fourteen times.”
“That's impossible.”
“Fourteen letters.”
Matthew shook his head.
“I never received a single one.”
“I emailed you.”
“I never received those either.”
“I went to Sullivan Tower.”
His face changed.
“When?”
“Six months pregnant.”
Matthew felt sick.
Anne continued.
“I stood in the lobby for three hours.”
“No.”
“Security finally came down.”
“No.”
“They told me you had been informed I was there.”
Matthew’s hands began shaking.
“They said you refused to see me.”
“I wasn't even in New York.”
Anne stopped.
“What?”
“I spent that entire month in Singapore.”
Silence.
Matthew stepped closer.
“Who spoke to you?”
Anne swallowed.
“A man named Charles.”
Matthew froze.
Charles Whitmore.
His father’s private secretary.
A man who had worked for the Sullivan family for thirty-two years.
Charles had retired two years earlier.
“What did he say?”
Anne’s voice trembled.
“He said you were engaged.”
“I wasn’t.”
“He said you wanted me to stop contacting you.”
“I never said that.”
Anne’s expression crumbled.
“He gave me a letter.”
Matthew felt something cold settle inside him.
“What letter?”
Anne stared at him.
“You wrote that you regretted what happened between us.”
“I didn't.”
“That I was becoming a liability.”
“No.”
“That if the baby was yours, you wanted no involvement.”
Matthew’s face drained of color.
“I never wrote that.”
Anne’s tears spilled over.
“You signed it.”
“Someone forged it.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Anne, look at me.”
She did.
“I never knew you were pregnant.”
Her face broke.
For six years, Anne had believed Matthew abandoned her.
For six years, Matthew had believed Anne left without explanation.
And between them stood a five-year-old girl who had grown up without a father because someone had deliberately kept them apart.
Matthew lowered himself into the chair.
“Do you still have the letter?”
Anne nodded.
“In a blue box under my bed.”
The same box Sarah had mentioned.
“Why keep it?”
Anne looked toward the door.
“Because sometimes hatred is easier to hold onto when you have proof.”
Matthew absorbed the words.
“Who else knew you were pregnant?”
“My doctor.”
“Family?”
“My mother died years before.”
“Friends?”
“One.”
“Who?”
“Rachel Cole.”
Matthew knew the name.
Rachel had worked with Anne at the community arts center.
“Did Rachel ever speak to anyone from my family?”
Anne’s expression changed.
“She disappeared.”
Matthew frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Not literally.”
Anne shifted painfully.
“Three weeks after I went to Sullivan Tower, Rachel took a job in California.”
“That’s normal.”
“She never applied for it.”
Matthew went still.
“What?”
“She told me a recruiter called unexpectedly. The salary was almost triple what she was earning.”
“Where?”
“A nonprofit foundation.”
Matthew already knew before asking.
“What foundation?”
Anne looked at him.
“The Sullivan Foundation.”
His blood ran cold.
His family’s charitable organization.
Someone had moved Anne’s closest friend across the country.
Someone had intercepted letters.
Someone had forged Matthew’s signature.
Someone had instructed security to turn away the pregnant mother of his child.
This was not an accident.
It was a system.
Then Matthew remembered Sarah’s description of the crash.
“The woman in the car.”
Anne immediately looked frightened.
“Sarah told you?”
“She said you recognized her.”
Anne said nothing.
“Who was she?”
“Matthew.”
“Who?”
Anne’s monitor began registering a faster heart rate.
He stepped closer.
“You were nearly killed.”
“She wasn't supposed to know where we lived.”
“Who wasn't?”
Anne squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she whispered a name.
“Your mother.”
Matthew froze.
“That's impossible.”
Anne opened her eyes.
“Is it?”
Eleanor Sullivan.
Matthew’s mother.
Chairwoman emeritus of the Sullivan Foundation.
The woman who had spent her entire life protecting the family reputation.
The woman who believed emotion was weakness.
The woman who had once told Matthew that marriage should be treated as a corporate decision.
Matthew shook his head.
“My mother lives in London.”
“She was in that car.”
“You're certain?”
“I saw her.”
Matthew wanted to reject it.
But something inside him knew Anne was telling the truth.
“Why would she hurt you?”
Anne stared at him.
“I don't think she was trying to hurt me.”
“Then what?”
“She was trying to hurt Sarah.”
The words hit him harder than anything else.
Matthew moved toward the bed.
“What are you talking about?”
Anne took a breath.
“Three weeks ago, I applied for emergency housing assistance through the Sullivan Foundation.”
He stared at her.
“Our foundation?”
“I lost my job after the company I worked for closed.”
“Why didn't you contact me?”
Anne laughed bitterly.
“Because as far as I knew, you wanted nothing to do with us.”
Matthew had no answer.
“The application required Sarah's birth certificate.”
His stomach tightened.
“And?”
“And her father's name is listed.”
Matthew stopped breathing.
His own name.
Someone at the foundation had seen it.
Someone had realized Sarah existed.
Anne continued.
“Two days after I submitted the application, I received a phone call.”
“From whom?”
“A woman.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to withdraw the application.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“She said some family secrets were safer when they stayed buried.”
Matthew’s face hardened.
“Did you record it?”
“No.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
Anne hesitated.
“Not then.”
“But now?”
“I heard her speak at a charity gala once.”
Matthew already knew the answer.
“My mother.”
Anne nodded.
The door suddenly opened.
Sarah returned with apple juice.
Behind her stood a tall woman in an ivory suit.
Silver-blonde hair.
Pearl earrings.
Perfect posture.
Matthew rose slowly.
His mother smiled.
“Matthew.”
Anne’s face turned white.
Sarah stopped beside the door.
The juice box slipped from her hand.
Eleanor Sullivan looked at the little girl.
Not with surprise.
With recognition.
Then she said the sentence that confirmed everything.
“So.”
May you like
Her cold green eyes settled on Sarah.
“This is the child.”
