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The phone speaker hummed with the steady, quiet breath of Sarah Sterling. Beside my bed, the heart monitor tapped a slow, rhythmic beat. / Chapter 9 / 10

Chapter 9 - The Last Plea

A year later, Maya celebrated her first birthday.

The coastal house was filled with flowers, balloons, light, and laughter. Friends from the local community, staff from the foundation, and board members from the company gathered on the lawn overlooking the river.

Marcus was there, holding Maya on his shoulders as she squealed with delight, reaching for the low-hanging oak leaves. Over the past twelve months, Marcus had turned Mercer-Vance Logistics into one of the most ethically respected shipping firms on the East Coast. And in doing so, he had become a steady, devoted presence in our lives.

As the party was winding down, my sister Sarah walked over to me, holding a small white envelope.

"This was just delivered to the front gate by a courier," Sarah said softly. "It’s from Julian."

I took the envelope. I walked down to the edge of the wooden dock, where the water lapped gently against the pilings, and opened the letter.

Elena,

I am writing this because I don't know what else to do. My job at the brokerage was eliminated last week. The bank is foreclosing on my apartment. My father refuses to take my calls from France, and Mother has moved to Dallas.

I know I made mistakes. I know I said things in that hospital room that I shouldn't have said. But I was under immense pressure from my father. He forced me to choose between the company and you.

I miss Maya. I want to be a father to her. I want to sign her birth certificate now. I’m willing to start over. Please, Elena. Give me a second chance to be part of your life.

Julian

I read the letter twice.

Two years ago, a letter like this might have caused me pain, confusion, or doubt. But looking at the thin, desperate handwriting, I realized that Julian hadn't changed at all. He wasn't sorry for hurting me. He wasn't sorry for trying to erase Maya. He was simply broke, lonely, and desperate to climb back onto the comfortable platform he had lost.

I took a pen from my purse and wrote a single sentence on the back of his letter:

You made your choice in the hospital room, Julian. Live with it.

May you like

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I folded the paper, slipped it back into the envelope, and handed it to my legal associate to be returned to his sender.

There were no more tears to shed for Julian Vance. His memory was nothing more than a closed book resting at the bottom of a very deep sea.

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