Mark appeared behind her, holding a glass containing a dark substance.
“Well,” he said, laughing nervously, “that’s unexpected.”
I held up the document.
“I’m sure it is.”
Mara’s gaze fell on the paper. Her lips parted.
“Caleb, we can explain.”
“No,” I said. “You can’t.”
Mark stepped forward. “Look, man, don’t make things worse. We’re just trying to do what’s best for the girls.”
I almost laughed.
“What’s best for them?” I asked. “You left them crying in empty cribs.”
Mara flinched.
“It was a difficult time,” she said. “I was overwhelmed.”
“You wrote a note.”
His face hardened. “People say things when they’re afraid.”
I took the old note out of my jacket pocket.
I’d kept it for three years. Not out of revenge, but because I knew that one day someone might need the truth.
I placed it on the table next to the adoption application.
Mark’s face went gray.
“You kept this?” Mara whispered.
“I kept everything.”
At that moment, an elderly man entered the hall. It was Mark’s grandfather’s lawyer, Mr. Whitmore. I recognized him from the documents.
He looked back and forth between me and the documents.
“Mr. Bennett,” he said. “I was hoping to speak with you.”
Mark retorted sharply, “That’s private.”
“No,” Mr. Whitmore replied coldly. “That’s not the case.”
He turned to me. “Your daughters cannot be used as financial instruments. The court will be informed immediately.”
Mara gripped the back of a chair. “Caleb, please. We need this money.”
I stared at her.
For illustrative purposes only
Three years ago, those words would have devastated me.
Now, they made everything clear.
“You don’t need my daughters,” I said. “You need a signature. And you’ll never get it.”
Mark slammed his glass on the table. “You think you’re better than us?”
