I opened it. Standing in the hallway, dripping wet and looking entirely stripped of her aristocratic pride, was my mother, Eleanor. And in her hands, she held a thick manila envelope.
“Please, Arthur,” Eleanor whispered, looking past me to Madeline. “I didn’t come to fight. I came to give her what I stole.”
Madeline froze, pulling Leo into her arms. “Get her out of here, Arthur.”
“Mom, you need to leave,” I said firmly, stepping into the hallway and blocking her view of the apartment.
Eleanor didn’t argue. She simply handed me the envelope, her hands shaking. “I found these in my safe. I couldn’t destroy them. Give them to her. Tell her… tell her I am resigning from the family trust. I am moving to Florida. I won’t interfere anymore.”
With a sob, Eleanor turned and walked toward the elevator.
I closed the door and walked back to the kitchen, placing the envelope on the counter. Madeline stared at it as if it were a bomb.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She opened it carefully. Dozens of unopened letters spilled out onto the marble counter. Along with them were ultrasound photos and hospital bracelets.
Madeline let out a choked gasp. “These are the letters I sent you.”
I felt the air leave the room. I picked one up. The postmark was dated two years ago.
Arthur, the letter read in Madeline’s frantic handwriting. I don’t know if you hate me. I am pregnant with triplets. The doctor says it’s high risk. I don’t want your money. I just need to know if I am doing this alone.
I picked up another.
Arthur, they came early. Henry stopped breathing today. I keep telling my sons their father is a strong, good man. Please, do not make me a liar.
