Chapter 8 - The Letters That Came Back
"She's alive," the surgeon said before either could ask.
Lucy's knees gave, and Ethan caught her beneath the arms.
The damaged valve had been replaced. Olivia had made it through surgery, but infection and a difficult recovery still lay ahead.
"Tonight was a major step," the surgeon said. "It wasn't the last one."
Ethan thanked her. Lucy asked when her mother could hear her voice.
"You can talk to her when we let you in. Even if she doesn't answer yet."
In intensive care, Lucy approached the bed carefully.
"I'm still grounded," she whispered. "You don't get out of that."
Ethan stood behind her and looked at the woman who had spent eleven years raising his child alone.
He wanted anger to be simple. It wasn't.
He could hate what Olivia had done and still want her to open her eyes.
At dawn, Dana returned with the tin box.
She waited until Lucy fell asleep beside Mrs. Alvarez before opening it.
Eight letters. Different envelopes. Different years.
Some had postal return markings. Others had been opened, placed in larger foundation envelopes, and sent back with a typed instruction: Please direct no further personal correspondence to this office.
"These don't prove who read them," Dana said. "But they show she tried."
The oldest letter was addressed to Ethan's former apartment. He'd moved after the breakup.
The next went to the foundation.
Our daughter turned two yesterday. I need you to know what really happened.
Ethan stopped reading.
"Take your time," Dana said.
He opened the next one.
Lucy has your laugh. I hear it and remember things I don't deserve to remember.
He put his hand over his mouth.
At the bottom of the box lay a birthday photograph. Lucy at five, missing a front tooth, grinning over a lopsided cake.
The envelope had been opened and returned.
On its back, in Walter's handwriting, were five words.
This cannot happen again. W.P.
Ethan called his father. This time, he didn't shout.
"You saw her picture."
Walter said nothing.
"You knew she might be mine."
"Olivia told me she was."
Ethan shut his eyes.
"When?"
"When the child was two."
Across the room, Lucy slept with her notebook open on her chest.
May you like
Ethan looked at the faceless father she'd drawn.
"You have until noon," he said. "Bring Dana the original financial files. All of them. This time, you don't get to decide what I can handle."
