Chapter 2 - The Letter Someone Signed For
The first thing Conrad did after his mother admitted she knew was accuse both of us of lying.
"What are you talking about?"
His voice echoed across the foyer.
Margaret flinched.
"I received a call from Cecily."
"No, you didn't."
"I did."
"When?"
"After you left Arizona."
Conrad turned toward me so quickly that Felicity stepped back.
"You called my mother?"
"Three times."
His expression hardened.
"You never called me."
"I called you seventeen times."
The words came out colder than I intended.
"I emailed you. I contacted your office. I sent certified mail. I even contacted the attorney handling our separation."
Conrad shook his head.
"I never received anything."
"That's exactly what I was told."
The children watched us.
I hated that.
I had promised myself this dinner would be about truth, not punishment.
So I bent down beside them.
"Why don't you four go with Mrs. Ashby to the sitting room for a few minutes?"
Margaret looked startled.
Then grateful.
"I'd like that."
Noah hesitated.
"You okay, Mom?"
"I'm okay."
He studied Conrad for another second before following Margaret.
That look made Conrad wince.
The moment the children disappeared down the hall, he turned back to me.
"You expect me to believe I had four children for eight years and somehow nobody told me?"
"I expect you to believe what happened."
"You could have found me."
"I tried."
"You knew where my family lived."
"I was carrying quadruplets, Conrad."
That stopped him.
I continued.
"At twelve weeks, my doctor classified the pregnancy as extremely high risk. At twenty-two weeks, I was ordered onto bed rest. At twenty-eight, I was hospitalized. At thirty-one weeks, your children were delivered by emergency C-section."
Felicity stared at me.
"Quadruplets?"
"Two boys. Two girls."
She looked at Conrad, but he still seemed unable to process it.
I opened my handbag.
I had carried the folder for eight years.
Not because I expected this moment.
Because after Conrad left, documentation became a habit.
I placed photocopies of the birth certificates on the console table.
Conrad picked up Noah's first.
His eyes dropped immediately to the line marked Father.
CONRAD JAMES ASHBY.
Then Ava.
Miles.
Sophie.
The same name.
His hand began to shake.
"Anyone can type a name on a document."
I almost slapped him.
Instead, I reached for another page.
"Then test them."
Felicity whispered:
"Conrad."
He ignored her.
"If you wanted me to know, why didn't you show up after they were born?"
"I sent photographs."
"No."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Here."
I pulled out a copy of a certified-mail receipt.
December 18.
Eight years earlier.
Addressed to the Ashby family office.
The delivery confirmation showed that the envelope had been accepted.
Conrad stared at the signature.
Then frowned.
"H. Ashby."
I nodded.
His father.
Howard Ashby.
A man who had controlled nearly every important decision inside the Ashby family for forty years.
Howard had died six months earlier.
Conrad looked at me.
"What was in it?"
"Four photographs. Copies of their hospital records. A letter asking you to contact me."
"And my father signed for it?"
"Apparently."
Felicity stepped toward the document.
"Did Conrad's father ever mention Cecily?"
Neither of us answered.
Because we both already knew the answer.
No.
Behind us, a floorboard creaked.
Margaret had returned.
She looked at the certified-mail receipt.
Her face collapsed.
"Oh, Howard."
Conrad turned.
"What did Dad do?"
Margaret sat slowly in a chair.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she said:
"Two weeks after Cecily called me, I wrote you a letter."
Conrad frowned.
"You never wrote me."
"Yes, I did."
"I never got it."
"I know."
Margaret's gaze drifted toward the hallway leading to her late husband's study.
"Because the next morning, the letter disappeared from my desk."
My skin prickled.
"Margaret..."
She looked at me.
"I thought I had misplaced it."
Conrad stared at her.
"For eight years?"
Margaret stood.
"No."
Her voice trembled.
"For eight years, I convinced myself I had."
Then she looked toward the closed study door.
"But six months ago, after your father died, I found something inside his key box."
"What?"
Margaret swallowed.
"A key."
May you like
She pointed toward Howard's study.
"To the one desk drawer he never allowed anyone to open."
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