Yet I had been completely available every single day.
I had spent twelve hours inside my office every day without fail.
I flipped the heavy envelope over. The glue seal had clearly been broken open, and then smoothed flat again. Inside was a single sheet of hospital stationery alongside a photograph taken in the maternity ward.
It showed Savannah lying in a hospital bed beside two small plastic bassinets.
Caleb was sleeping peacefully beneath a light blue blanket.
Maya was wide awake, her tiny hand reaching up toward the camera lens.
I could barely catch my breath as I looked at my baby daughter.
“I swear to you that I did not know about this,” I whispered.
“I actually believe you,” she answered gently.
That gentle lack of anger hurt far worse than if she had screamed at me.
“You really believe me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I believe that you never physically received these letters,” she clarified. “I do not know why they were kept from you.”
Neither did I, but I was determined to find out.
A floorboard creaked softly on the second floor above us.
Savannah quickly gathered the scattered papers and slipped them back into the folder.
“I think you need to leave now, Gabriel,” she said softly.
“I understand,” I replied.
“Do you really understand?” she asked, looking deep into my eyes.
She pressed the thin folder tightly against her chest.
“You built a massive life in Minneapolis that cannot simply be merged with ours just because you stumbled upon our existence today,” she stated firmly. “Maya and Caleb are not legal evidence to be collected. They are not business assets. They are real, living children.”
“I know that,” I acknowledged.
“Do you really?” Her voice trembled with rare emotion for the very first time. “Because I have spent two and a half full years protecting them from chaos and threat. I will not allow you to waltz into their lives making grand promises, only to disappear the moment your work demands your attention again.”
“I will not disappear from their lives,” I swore deeply.
“You disappeared long before they were even born,” she reminded me.
“I walked away from our marriage,” I corrected her softly. “I did not walk away from my children. I had no idea they walked this earth.”
“However, you were fully aware that I was struggling before I left,” she noted.
Those words completely silenced me.
I stared at her in quiet admission.
“I suspected something was happening,” I confessed openly. “You were trying to communicate with me back then. I was far too consumed by my own ambition to listen.”
“And after I packed my bags and left?” she asked.
“I assumed that you simply wanted a clean divorce.”
“I did desperately want the divorce,” she affirmed.
The brutal honesty of her voice cut through me.
“However, it was not because I stopped loving you back then,” she continued gently. “I demanded a divorce because I realized with complete clarity that I was married to a man who had absolutely no space left in his life for me. I begged you to attend one single medical appointment with me. Just one. And you sent a hired driver instead.”
“I was completely wrong,” I admitted, bowing my head.
“Yes, you were.”
That single word hung in the quiet air between us like a heavy weight.
Upstairs, little Caleb let out a happy laugh. A second later, Maya’s sweet voice joined his in play.
Savannah raised her head to look toward the ceiling.
“They know Lucas as their real father,” she stated plainly.
I gave a small nod, even though the motion felt like a knife in my chest.
“He has been right beside them for every high fever, every late night nightmare, and every single step of their lives,” she shared. “He taught Caleb how to build block towers. He held Maya close when she was terrified of the loud thunder.”
“I am not asking him to step aside as their parent,” I clarified gently.
“You do not possess the right to ask for anything at all just yet,” she stated firmly.
“I know that.”
She examined my tired face with careful eyes.
“You keep repeating that phrase.”
“Because I am finally beginning to comprehend it,” I answered truthful.
Suddenly, a heavy car door slammed shut out on the street.
Raymond appeared silently in the kitchen doorway.
“Boss,” he called out softly.
Savannah’s face visibly tightened at the corporate title.
Raymond noticed her discomfort immediately and corrected his phrasing. “Gabriel. I apologize for interrupting.”
“What is it, Raymond?” I asked.
He held up his cell phone.
“I just finished speaking with Clara Miller,” he reported quickly.
My pulse jumped instantly.
“And what did she say?”
“She still resides in the suburbs of Minneapolis,” Raymond detailed. “She flatly refused to discuss your personal mail over an unsecure phone call. However, I dispatched my associate to check your old corporate archive room.”
“What did he locate?” I pressed him.
“A locked filing cabinet tucked away in the back storage room,” Raymond explained. “It was listed directly under your mother’s personal family records.”
Savannah froze completely where she stood.
Raymond continued smoothly, “The cabinet was never cleared out when Clara took her sudden retirement. The facility manager granted my agent immediate access.”
“What was stored inside it?” I demanded.
“Letters,” Raymond answered.
My eyes darted to the brown folder held tightly in Savannah’s hands.
“How many letters were found?” I asked.
“Seven personal letters written by Savannah,” Raymond revealed. “Two official medical documents from the hospital, and one formal letter from a family law attorney.”
Savannah’s lips parted in complete shock. “An attorney?”
Raymond turned his gaze toward her. “There was also a sealed envelope addressed directly to Gabriel. It was never opened.”
“Whose handwriting was on it?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.
Raymond rotated his phone screen to show me a high-resolution photograph.
The image displayed a heavy cream-colored envelope covered in a fine layer of dust, with my full name written across the front in an unmistakable, elegant script.
Right beneath my name, written in smaller cursive handwriting, was a short sentence that made all the air leave my lungs.
Eleanor Mercer. Do Not Forward under any circumstances.
Savannah gripped the back of a wooden dining chair for balance.
“Your mother,” she whispered softly.
Raymond gave a grim nod of confirmation.
“And Gabriel,” Savannah added, her wide eyes locked onto the photograph, “that specific envelope was sent long before the twins were even born.”
I stared into her pale face.
“What was contained inside that envelope?” I asked.
She slowly shook her head from side to side.
“I honestly do not know,” she admitted.
Raymond’s phone suddenly buzzed with a new text message notification.
He read the incoming text quickly, and his professional composure visibly shattered.
“What happened now?” I demanded.
He looked from my face over to Savannah.
“That envelope was officially opened twenty minutes ago,” Raymond reported softly.
“Opened by whom?” I snapped.
Raymond lowered his voice to a whisper.
“By your mother.”
PART 3
Those two words settled over the warm kitchen like an unexpected drop into freezing temperatures.
“Your mother,” Savannah repeated softly, resting a hand on the wooden counter.
Raymond slowly lowered his cell phone to his side. “I do not know why she chose to open it tonight. I only know that the facility manager personally witnessed her enter the archive room about twenty minutes ago. Clara Miller was accompanying her.”
“Where are the two of them right now?” I demanded.
“Clara left the building immediately afterward,” Raymond detailed. “Your mother is still sitting inside the building alone.”
I turned my head to look at Savannah. Her face had gone completely pale, yet there was no sign of terror in her eyes. She simply looked profoundly exhausted, like a person who had finally seen her long-held suspicions validated by reality.
“Did she physically take the envelope with her?” Savannah asked.
Raymond offered a quiet nod. “She walked out of the room holding it.”
Lucas appeared silently in the kitchen doorway behind us. He had changed into a comfortable green sweater, and his face instantly darkened into a protective posture when he read the tension in the room.
“What on earth just happened?” Lucas asked gently.
Savannah did not answer him immediately.
“My mother intercepted and opened all of Savannah’s personal letters,” I stated clearly.
Lucas’s keen eyes shifted from the folder on the table over to Savannah’s pale face.
“Eleanor did this?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” Savannah confirmed quietly.
Lucas tightened his jaw in deep anger. “Well, that certainly explains a great deal.”
I stepped toward him. “Explains what, exactly?”
“Nothing that I can legally prove in a court,” Lucas answered smoothly.
“Tell me anyway,” I insisted firmly.
Lucas glanced at Savannah, seeking her permission. She gave him a small, weary nod.
“When Savannah first arrived here in Saint Paul, she carried a formal letter sent by your mother,” Lucas shared quietly.
My chest constricted tightly. “What kind of letter?”
“I never read the exact text,” Lucas explained. “Savannah preferred to keep it hidden away. However, she told me that Eleanor had personally reached out to her right before she fled Minneapolis. Eleanor informed Savannah that you had made your final choice, and that dragging innocent children into the situation would only bring immense suffering to everyone involved.”
Savannah closed her eyes tight against the painful memory.
“I never claimed those exact words to you, Lucas,” she murmured softly.
“You did not have to state them aloud,” Lucas replied with extreme tenderness. “You fully believed them to be true.”
I stared at her in utter disbelief. “My mother told you directly that I wanted nothing to do with my own children?”
“She did not speak to me face-to-face,” Savannah clarified softly. “She had a courier deliver a private letter to my apartment right after I packed my bags.”
“Do you still possess that letter?” I asked, my voice shaking with rage.
“No, I do not.”
“Why did you destroy it?”
“Because I burned it in the sink,” she confessed softly, sounding almost embarrassed. “I was heavily pregnant, completely alone, and barely sleeping two hours a night. I had spent exhausting months trying to reach you without a single response. When that formal letter arrived from your mother, I truly believed it confirmed every horrific fear I had carried in my heart.”
“What were the contents of that letter?” I asked gently.
“It stated that you had absolutely no desire to maintain any connection with me,” Savannah detailed. “It claimed that your family would publicly deny that the children were yours. And it warned that if I attempted to contact you or cause a public scene, your corporate attorneys would be unleashed to handle me.”
I felt something dark and hard settle deep inside my chest, directed entirely at the ghost of my family’s legacy.
“I never authorized a single word of that letter,” I swore deeply.
“I understand that now,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you demand an answer directly from me back then?” I asked, genuine pain in my voice.
She offered me a deeply sorrowful look. “Gabriel, I had been begging for your attention for months on end.”
There was no logical defense or excuse I could offer that would lessen the devastating truth of her words.
Raymond stepped farther into the room. “Boss, there is more information stored in those files.”
I turned my head toward him.
“The cabinet contained far more than just that single envelope,” Raymond revealed. “Clara admitted that she quietly kept duplicate records of everything because Eleanor explicitly instructed her to track all incoming communication from Savannah.”
Savannah’s eyes widened in horror. “Duplicate records?”
“Letters, hospital birth records, and a formal notice from a family law attorney,” Raymond detailed. “The cabinet held a separate file labeled with Savannah’s maiden name.”
“What were the exact contents of that attorney’s note?” I demanded.
“Clara did not read the text herself,” Raymond explained. “She stated that your mother seized the entire folder immediately.”
“Get her on the phone right now,” I commanded.
Raymond hesitated, glancing respectfully at Savannah.
I completely understood his silence. This was no longer merely a private dispute between my mother and myself. Savannah had earned the absolute right to hear every single word that transpired.
I pulled out my own cell phone and dialed my mother’s direct line.
She answered before the second ring could finish.
“Gabriel,” her voice came through the speaker, perfectly poised and smooth.
“Where are you standing right now?” I asked coldly.
“I am sitting inside the corporate archive room,” she replied without a hint of fear.
“Holding my missing letters,” I stated.
There was a long, heavy pause on the line.
“I assumed Raymond Miller would inform you immediately,” she acknowledged smoothly.
“You opened mail addressed directly to me,” I accused her.
“I certainly did,” she admitted.
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because you were on the verge of making a massive life decision that could destroy our family,” Eleanor answered sharply. “I needed to understand precisely what information had been withheld from you.”
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh into the receiver.
“You mean what information you personally stole from me,” I corrected her harshly.
Her long silence was all the confirmation I needed.
Savannah turned her back to me, pressing one hand firmly against the wooden edge of the kitchen sink.
“Did you intercept every single letter Savannah sent to my office?” I demanded.
“I did not intercept all of them personally,” Eleanor clarified.
“Which ones did you take?”
“The very first letter arrived at my desk right before your divorce papers were finalized,” my mother explained cold. “You were locked in a critical negotiation with our major investors. I opened the envelope because it was marked urgent and personal.”
“You breached my privacy and stole my personal mail,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I was desperately trying to protect your future, Gabriel,” she argued without remorse. “You had dangerous competitors watching every single move our company made. Savannah was highly emotional, pregnant, and threatening to walk away. I genuinely believed her letter was a calculated scheme to trap you in a broken marriage that you no longer wanted.”
I closed my eyes in absolute agony.
“You took it upon yourself to make that determination without ever consulting me?”
“I knew who you were,” she insisted.
“No,” I corrected her with cold anger. “You knew the cold corporate puppet you had raised me to be.”
Another heavy silence filled the phone line.
Then Eleanor spoke again, her voice softening slightly. “Those twin infants were brought into a world that possessed immense danger for our family name.”
“Danger because of me?” I asked bitterly.
“Danger because of the Mercer legacy,” she stated plainly.
I looked over at Savannah. She was standing quietly beneath the small calendar covered in her children’s finger paintings, listening to every word without interrupting.
“Did you personally send that cruel letter to Savannah after she left?” I asked my mother.
“I dispatched a formal notice to her apartment,” Eleanor admitted.
“What did you write in that letter?”
“I informed her that you had zero intention of reconciling your marriage,” Eleanor answered plainly. “I stated that you would not be manipulated into recognizing children that you had never planned to have.”
My fingers clenched so tightly around the phone that my knuckles turned ghost white.
“You had absolutely no right to speak on my behalf,” I growled.
“No,” Eleanor admitted softly. “I suppose I did not.”
That sudden admission of guilt took me completely by surprise.
She continued in a quieter tone, “However, I was deeply afraid back then, Gabriel. Your father had just passed away suddenly. Three of our primary holdings were undergoing intense federal scrutiny. Dangerous people were asking probing questions about you, about Savannah, and about every vulnerability in our inner circle. I truly believed that complete distance was the only way to keep her safe.”
“You cast her out into the cold with zero support or resources,” I accused her fiercely.
“I personally arranged for financial support,” Eleanor countered smoothly.
Savannah spun around sharply to face the phone.
“What on earth does that mean?” Savannah demanded aloud.
Eleanor’s tone shifted the moment she recognized Savannah’s voice. It became noticeably softer, yet lacked any genuine warmth.
“I quietly paid the entire first year of rent for your townhome on Grand Avenue,” Eleanor revealed. “I anonymously arranged for a top tier private physician to oversee your high-risk pregnancy. And I donated substantial funds to the neighborhood resource center where you eventually secured employment.”
Savannah stared at the phone as if my mother were standing right in front of her.
“No,” Savannah declared firmly. “That is a complete lie.”
“It is the absolute truth,” Eleanor insisted.
“I never accepted a single dime of Mercer money,” Savannah stated proudly.
“You received those benefits anonymously,” Eleanor explained. “Because I was fully aware that your pride would force you to reject the help if you knew it originated from my office.”
“You had zero right to control my life behind my back,” Savannah said, her voice shaking with anger.
“I am fully aware of that now,” Eleanor replied quietly.
Those words echoed the same admission she had offered me moments before, yet coming from my formidable mother, they sounded almost surreal.
“Why didn’t you simply tell me the truth back then?” I demanded from Eleanor.
“Because I genuinely believed I was preserving your corporate standing,” she answered.
“My standing cost me three precious years of knowing my own children existed,” I shouted.
“I believed that once the storm passed, you would eventually be grateful for my intervention,” she confessed softly.
That sentence was so painfully characteristic of Eleanor Mercer that it made my stomach turn.
“Did you explicitly tell Savannah that I wanted nothing to do with my unborn babies?” I asked.
“I informed her that you had not once asked about them,” Eleanor answered smoothly.
“That was not the question I asked you, Mother,” I growled.
Eleanor let out a long, heavy sigh over the speaker.
“I told her that you had not arrived at a final decision,” Eleanor admitted.
“That is still an evasive lie,” I snapped.
“I told her that if she dared to return to Minneapolis, those infants would be dragged into a brutal war that neither of you could possibly control,” Eleanor finally confessed.
Savannah spoke up with crystal clarity. “You told me directly that Gabriel would use his wealth to rip my babies out of my arms.”
Eleanor went completely silent on the line.
The entire kitchen seemed to shrink around us in the heavy quiet.
“Did you truly say that to her?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet.
“I stated that our legal team would aggressively protect the family’s interests,” Eleanor answered carefully.
“That is still not a direct answer,” I pushed.
“I had no idea how you would react, Gabriel,” Eleanor confessed, a rare strain in her voice. “I knew precisely what our attorneys would advise us to do. I knew the board would insist that heirs to the Mercer estate must be raised under our direct control. I genuinely believed that if Savannah remained far away in Saint Paul, everyone would be infinitely safer.”
Everyone.
That single word carried its own crushing weight of guilt.
“Where is that file right now?” I demanded.
“It is sitting on the desk right in front of me,” Eleanor answered.
“Read the contents of the attorney’s letter to me right now,” I ordered.
“I can take a photograph and text it to your phone,” she offered.
“No,” I barked. “Read it aloud to me right now.”
There was a long pause, followed by the faint rustling of paper over the line.
“Dear Mr. Mercer,” Eleanor began reading in a monotone voice. “I am drafting this formal notice on behalf of Savannah Miller regarding the recent birth of her children and your potential parental rights. Ms. Miller has zero desire to initiate formal legal custody proceedings at this present time. However, she explicitly requests official written confirmation that all future correspondence will be delivered directly into your personal hands, rather than filtered through your family members or corporate staff.”
Savannah covered her mouth with her trembling hand as tears welled in her eyes.
Eleanor continued reading smoothly over the speaker.
“She further requests that all medical documentation and birth records remain strictly confidential. Should you wish to formally establish legal paternity, please contact my legal office within thirty calendar days.”
The kitchen remained in absolute, breathless silence.
“What was the exact date stamped on that letter?” I asked.
“May twenty-second,” Eleanor answered quietly.
The twins had been born in early May.
I turned my head to look directly at Savannah. “You personally sent that formal legal request to my office?”
“Yes, I did,” she answered softly.
“And what about the hospital records?” I pressed.
“I included them inside the exact same package,” she confirmed.
Eleanor turned a page over the line.
“There is an attached internal memo from your executive assistant stating that the entire package was officially returned to sender unopened two weeks later,” Eleanor revealed.
“Why was it returned?” I demanded, my blood running cold.
“Because you personally issued a strict directive to Clara instructing her not to bother you with personal correspondence while the divorce negotiations were ongoing,” Eleanor explained smoothly.
I felt the agonizing weight of the truth strike me in devastating layers.
I had given a casual, thoughtless order to my secretary during a stressful week. Clara had obeyed that order to the letter. My scheming mother had expanded that simple order into an impenetrable fortress wall. Savannah had sent desperate, heartfelt letters crashing against that wall, eventually concluding that I had consciously chosen to abandon my own children.
And I had been far too arrogant and self-absorbed to ever ask if anything had arrived for me.
“What were the exact contents of the personal letter you opened tonight?” I asked Eleanor.
Eleanor did not answer right away.
“Mother, answer me,” I demanded.
“It was a personal letter written by Savannah,” she admitted quietly.
“I am well aware of that. What did she write?”
“She wrote that she was permanently leaving the region and would never attempt to contact you again unless you personally reached out to her first,” Eleanor revealed softly.
“Was that all she wrote?”
“No,” Eleanor’s composed voice faltered for the very first time.
“What else did she write?” I barked into the phone.
“She wrote that if you ever happened to learn about the children’s existence in the future, you must understand that she did not hide them out of vengeance or malice,” Eleanor read softly. “She hid them because she was convinced your family would turn her sweet babies into corporate possessions.”
Savannah lowered her head, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
I looked at the two plastic toddler cups resting on the counter. Pink and blue. They were simple, everyday items that carried the overwhelming weight of a life I had completely missed.
“She was entirely correct in her fear,” I said plainly.
My mother responded in a surprisingly fragile whisper, “I never intended to turn them into possessions, Gabriel.”
“Yet you insisted on controlling where they lived, who knew about their existence, and whether I ever got the privilege of holding them,” I accused her fiercely.
“I desperately wanted to prevent a destructive custody battle,” Eleanor defended herself weakly.
“You created the exact environment of lies and secrecy that made a battle inevitable,” I countered.
“I realize that now,” she whispered.
That repeated admission disturbed me far more than an outburst of anger would have.
“Why did you choose to open that hidden envelope tonight of all nights?” I asked her.
“Because Clara Miller panicked and called my house after Raymond visited her home,” Eleanor confessed. “She informed me that you had successfully tracked Savannah to Saint Paul. I realized with absolute horror that you were about to hear an incomplete, villainous version of events and lay all the blame on me.”
“You mean you were terrified that I would finally see you for who you truly are,” I corrected her coldly.
“I am not afraid of your anger or your blame, Gabriel,” Eleanor stated firmly.
“Then tell me what you are actually afraid of right now,” I demanded.
For the first time in my thirty-nine years of life, my mother’s voice lost every ounce of its absolute authority.
“I am terrified that I was utterly wrong,” she whispered softly.
Nobody inside the kitchen made a single sound.
Eleanor continued in a quiet, broken tone, “I spent decades believing that total control was the exact same thing as love and protection. Your father taught me that philosophy from the day we married. I passed that exact poison down to you. I genuinely believed that if I tightly managed every single risk, no outside force could ever destroy our family.”
Her voice thinned into a delicate thread.
“However, Savannah and those sweet children were never ours to manage or control,” she admitted.
Savannah turned her face toward the dark kitchen window. Outside, the light rain had completely stopped, leaving the glass dark and highly reflective against the indoor lights.
“Where is Clara Miller right now?” I asked Eleanor firmly.
“She returned to her suburban house,” Eleanor answered.
“Instruct her to board a plane and arrive here in Saint Paul tomorrow morning,” I ordered.
“Gabriel, please…”
“She will not come to defend your actions or offer pathetic excuses,” I commanded coldly. “She needs to hand-deliver every stolen letter and legal document directly to Savannah herself.”
Eleanor remained completely quiet for a long moment.
“She will be there tomorrow morning,” Eleanor promised softly.
“And what about you?” I asked.
“I will personally courier all the original documents to her address,” Eleanor offered.
“That pathetic gesture will never be enough to fix this,” I told her plainly.
“I am fully aware of that,” she acknowledged.
That ultimate admission left the warm room feeling strangely empty and silent.
I ended the phone call without another word.
For several long seconds, not a single person inside the kitchen moved a muscle.
Then Lucas calmly walked over to the stove and turned off the burner beneath the small pot.
“The soup is going to get cold,” Lucas noted softly into the quiet room. “However, I can easily prepare something fresh for everyone.”
The utter, simple human kindness of his statement nearly shattered my emotional control right then and there.
“I should take my leave now,” I said quietly, adjusting my heavy coat.
Savannah looked up and met my eyes. “Yes, you should.”
I gave her a solemn nod of agreement.
When I reached the front entryway, I paused near the wooden staircase. Upstairs, I could faintly hear Lucas’s calm voice talking softly to the children. A small toy car rolled across the wooden floorboards. Little Maya let out a sweet giggle, and Caleb softly shushed her with adorable seriousness.
Every fiber of my being desperately wanted to climb those stairs.
I wanted to see their real faces up close without a cold photograph standing between us.
However, wanting something was not the same as possessing the moral right to have it.
“I am going to formally request a private legal paternity test,” I stated with extreme care. “I am not asking out of any doubt toward you, Savannah. I am asking because those children deserve absolute legal certainty, and because I need to take real responsibility in a way that never disrupts their peace.”
Savannah held my gaze with unyielding strength.
“I am not agreeing to anything tonight,” she stated clearly.
“I completely understand and respect that,” I replied.
“If a paternity test takes place in the future, it will be conducted exclusively through independent medical doctors and neutral attorneys that I personally approve,” she stipulated. “Zero involvement from anyone associated with your family or business.”
“I completely agree to your terms,” I promised.
“No armed security guards parked outside my house,” she continued firmly. “No showing up unannounced at their daycare. No expensive gifts delivered to my porch without my explicit permission.”
“I agree completely,” I repeated.
“And you do not get to refer to yourself as their father until we determine what healthy place you can honestly occupy in their lives,” she declared plainly.
Those firm words stung my heart deeply, yet they were exceptionally fair.
“I will work every single day to earn the privilege of holding any title at all,” I promised her.
Lucas walked down the stairs and accompanied me to the front door.
Before I stepped out into the night air, Lucas called out softly, “Gabriel.”
I stopped and turned back to face him.
“I do not believe you are the exact same cold man that Savannah walked away from three years ago,” Lucas shared quietly.
I stood silently and waited for him to finish his thought.
“However, she has not seen enough evidence to know that for a fact yet,” Lucas noted gently.
“I am fully aware of that,” I admitted.
“And more importantly, neither do your children,” Lucas added.
“I know,” I answered honestly.
He offered me a single, respectful nod. “In that case, you need to begin this journey with immense patience.”
I stepped out onto the cold stone stoop.
Raymond was standing patiently beside the black sedan, holding an open umbrella even though the rain had completely stopped falling.
As I began descending the wet stone steps, Savannah’s soft voice called my name from the doorway.
“Gabriel.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around.
She was standing just inside the warm entryway, resting one hand lightly against the wooden frame.
“Yes, Savannah?” I answered.
“The formal letter from my attorney was not the only document stored inside that hidden file,” she revealed softly.
My pulse spiked instantly with fresh anxiety.
“What else was stored inside it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She looked briefly toward the upper staircase, where Lucas and her children remained safely out of view.
“Your mother claimed that she was acting solely to protect us from harm,” Savannah explained. “However, that formal attorney’s letter was drafted long before I ever made the choice to flee Minneapolis.”
