Emails, call records, courier receipts.
Show me what you tried to do.”
Her expression hardened.
“You think I need to prove it?”
“No.
I think someone used my name to shut you out, and I want to know exactly how.”
That changed something.
Not forgiveness.
But perhaps the smallest opening in a locked door.
She went to a cabinet and removed an old accordion folder.
It was worn at the edges.
She placed it on the kitchen table.
Inside were copies of letters addressed to me.
Some were handwritten.
Some were typed.
One envelope had been returned unopened.
Another had a courier receipt attached.
I picked up the first copy.
Max,
I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I need to tell you something important.
Please call me.
The second was dated two weeks later.
Max,
I went to your office today.
They wouldn’t let me upstairs.
I am not trying to cause trouble.
I’m pregnant.
The baby is yours.
I stopped reading.
My hands had begun to shake.
Eleanor stood across the table with her arms folded.
“Keep going.”
The third letter contained an ultrasound appointment date.
The fourth contained her new phone number.
The fifth was written after Sophie had been born.
There was a tiny photocopied hospital bracelet stapled to it.
I sat down.
For three years, I had told myself Eleanor wanted nothing from me.
For three years, she had possessed physical evidence that she’d been begging to tell me I had a daughter.
“How many calls?”
“I stopped counting after thirty.”
I looked up.
“Thirty?”
“At first they transferred me to your assistant.
Then she started taking messages.
Eventually the receptionist would simply say you weren’t accepting personal calls from me.”
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
“I never gave that instruction.”
“I know that now.”
The words hurt because of how quietly she said them.
“But I didn’t know it then.”
There was a knock at the apartment door.
Eleanor stiffened.
I opened it only far enough to see the security contractor.
“What?”
“Sir, you asked us not to leave.
