Nadia,
There are three things in this suitcase: The first is enough money to get you out of New York and settled in somewhere quickly; for the in-between period before you finally settle in somewhere, somewhere with gates and good schools.
The second thing in this suitcase is a packet of information Iâve gathered over the years pertaining to your family. You asked me once to tell you the whole story of what I did to them, but the truth is, I am not as bad a man as you think I am, nor as good of a don as I should be.
I killed your father because he deserved it, and I relished it. I will never apologize for that. I will never regret it. As for the rest, your brother came after me. Iâm not sorry for that, but it is why it happened, and I would be lying if I said I didnât make him pay for that choice. I didnât seek him out, but I donât know that it matters. I killed him, too. I hadnât planned on it, but I did it anyway. You can think about that whatever you will.
Your motherâshe wouldnât give you up. No matter how much I threatened her, no matter what I tried. She was loyal to you until the end, Nadia. You and she have very similar eyes. Did you ever notice? I did. When it came down to it, when it came time to break bone or pull the trigger, I couldnât do it. I let her go. I told myself it was a strategic decision, but the truth is, it was a weak one. I didnât have it in me.
I have spent the last several weeks trying to find her. I watched her movements abroad for years, thinking eventually she would lead me to you. Strategic, remember? It felt like a very good excuse, baiting the trap. Eventually, even I lost her. These documents contain everything I know about her last-known whereabouts, her associates, addresses, and her government information as registered by Italy.
I donât know if sheâs still alive. If youâre angry at me for not telling you, I didnât because I didnât want to give you that hope only for you to lose her all over again. I tried very hard to find her these past few weeks, Nadia. I hope, maybe, I have uncovered something that will lead you to her. If it doesnât, then I wasted a lot of time I should have spent with you.
The third thing contained in this suitcase is an apology. I donât think thereâs enough paper here to contain it all in words, so Iâll have to get it to you in deeds.
In exactly one weekâmaybe soonerâyou will inherit the sum of my estate. The immediate sum will enter a bank account that only you have access to. I have given you the information somewhere safe, in the event someone opens this letter before you do.
Iâm not sorry for hunting you down. Iâm not sorry for marrying you. I donât have that kind of remorse. If Iâm sorry for anything, itâs for being the sort of man you had to run from rather than toward. That I still am that man.
I love you, and I have always loved you.
Your husband,
Ren
I stare at the letter for a long time. My hands move methodically through thick packets of informationâsome in foreign languages I am too rusty at to read.
I read it again.
And then again, and again.
Ren has given me something to run toward instead of run from. My mother might be alive. Renâs resources might help me find her. And the moneyâ
A fresh start.
I glance up, looking at Harperâs turned back. She could still have it all. A big house, and a nice school, and new, not consignment shop clothes.
But I donât think any of those are what she wants.
Theyâre not what I want either. Not at all. I want the man who wrote this letter. The one who apologized. The one who couldnât kill my mother because I have her eyes. The man I have been hunting, looking for, ever since Ren and I reunited.
Heâs right here on this page.
I stare at the words.
In a weekâs time, maybe soonerâyou will inherit .
I know what that means. I know what he means to do. I crush the paper and I pick up my phone, calling him. Again and again. The calls bounce.