“Clara,” Johnson whispered, so quietly Mary almost didn’t hear him.
“You do remember her,” Mary’s face lit up with a small, fragile ray of hope.
Johnson looked from the envelope to Mary, and back to the envelope. His heart was pounding. Clara. After eight years of complete silence. Eight years of trying to forget her. Eight years of believing she had betrayed him, left him for another man. But now… here was this little girl. With his eyes. His face. Calling Clara “mom.”
“How… how old are you?” Johnson asked, his voice rough.
“I’m nine,” Mary said. “I’ll be ten in March.”
Nine years old. Johnson did the math in his head, his world tilting. Nine years ago, he and Clara had still been together. Nine years ago, before Veronica had come to him with those photos. Before Clara had vanished from his life. Could it be possible?
“Will you read it?” Mary asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear. “Please?”
Johnson’s throat felt tight. He nodded slowly.
Mary reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. On it, a phone number was written in crayon. “This is my mom’s number. In case… in case you want to call after you read the letter. She’s at home. She’s too sick to work anymore.”
She placed the paper on his desk very carefully, as if it were precious.
Then Mary did something that made Johnson’s heart crack wide open. She looked up at him with those big brown eyes—his eyes—and said, “My mom told me you were a good man. She said you might have forgotten how to be happy, but you were still good inside. I think she’s right.”
Before Johnson could find his voice, Mary turned and walked toward the door, where Linda was waiting to take her back down.
“Mary,” Johnson called out.
She stopped and looked back.
“How did you get here? Did someone bring you?”
“I took two buses,” Mary said, a flash of pride in her voice. “Mom drew me a map and helped me practice the route. It took almost two hours, but I found it all by myself.”
Two hours? Alone? A cold knot formed in Johnson’s stomach. “That’s not safe for a little girl.”
Mary shrugged, trying to look braver than she felt. “Mom said this letter was important enough to be brave for. She said sometimes you have to do scary things for the people you love.”
And then she was gone. The door clicked softly shut, leaving Johnson alone in his big, cold office. The letter felt heavy in his hands, far heavier than paper should ever feel. Outside, Seattle looked gray and distant. But Johnson didn’t see the city. He only saw a little girl with his eyes, telling him her mother was dying.
Slowly, his hands still shaking, he sank into his leather chair. He turned the envelope over and carefully tore it open. Inside was a letter, written in Clara’s neat, familiar script.
As Johnson began to read, his entire world began to crumble and rebuild itself all at the same time.
“Dear Johnson, I don’t know if you’ll read this. I don’t know if you’ll even let Mary into your building. But I’m writing anyway, because I’m running out of time, and there are truths you deserve to know. Truths I should have fought harder to tell you eight years ago. I’ll start with the most important one. Mary is your daughter.”
Johnson’s hands clenched the paper. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trying to break free of its cage.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re remembering what Veronica told you—that I cheated on you with Daniel, that I betrayed you, that I left you for another man. Johnson, none of it was true. Not one word. I never cheated on you. I never wanted anyone but you. But by the time I found out I was pregnant, you had already shut me out completely. You wouldn’t take my calls. You wouldn’t see me. Your assistant said you never wanted to hear from me again.
I tried, Johnson. I tried so many times to tell you about the baby. I came to your office six times in three months. Security wouldn’t let me up. I sent letters; I don’t know if you ever got them. I left voicemails that were never returned. Eventually, I had to accept that you’d made your choice. You believed I had betrayed you, and nothing I said would change your mind.
So I did what I had to do. I had Mary alone. I raised her alone. And I never told her about you, because I couldn’t bear to see her heart break the way mine did.
But now I’m dying, Johnson. Stage 4 cancer. The doctors give me maybe three or four months, if I’m lucky. And I can’t leave this world knowing Mary will be alone. She has no other family. Her grandmother, my mother, died two years ago. There’s no one else.
I’m not asking you to love me again. That ship sailed eight years ago. But I’m begging you… begging you… to get to know your daughter. To take care of her when I’m gone. She’s smart and funny and brave. She’s the best thing I ever did in my life. And she deserves better than the foster care system.
If you don’t believe she’s yours, do a DNA test. I welcome it. I have nothing to hide and nothing to lose anymore.
One more thing you should know. Veronica lied to you. About everything. I don’t know why she did it or what she had to gain, but she orchestrated our breakup. She showed you fake photos, told you fake stories, poisoned you against me. I didn’t learn this until years later, but by then it was too late. You’d moved on. You’d built a life with her.
Maybe you won’t believe this either. Maybe you’ll think I’m just a bitter ex trying to cause problems. But ask yourself this: In eight years, did Veronica ever make you truly happy? Or did she just make you forget how to feel anything at all?
I’m not trying to ruin your life, Johnson. I’m trying to save Mary’s. Please. If you ever loved me, if any part of you remembers what we had, please don’t let our daughter grow up alone.
The girl who still loves you,
Clara.
P.S. Mary doesn’t know you’re her father yet. I wanted you to have the choice to be in her life before I told her. Don’t break her heart, Johnson. She’s already going to lose her mother. Don’t let her lose her father too.”
Johnson read the letter three times. Then a fourth. His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. He’d forgotten how. Veronica had taught him that tears were a weakness. But his hands were shaking so badly now that the paper rattled.
Mary is your daughter.
The words echoed in his head like a thunderclap. He thought about the little girl who had just left. Her brown eyes. Her serious face. The way she stood, shoulders back, trying to be brave. The dimple in her chin that matched his own. She looked exactly like the baby photos of him his mother kept in old albums.
Johnson’s mind flew backward in time. Eight years ago, he’d been happy. Truly, deeply happy. He’d been dating Clara Carter for two years and had been planning to propose. He’d already bought the ring—a simple diamond on a gold band, because Clara didn’t like flashy things.
Then Veronica, his business partner’s sister, had come to him with photos. Photos that appeared to show Clara with another man, Daniel Brooks. Photos of them laughing, holding hands, kissing outside a restaurant.
“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this,” Veronica had said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “But I thought you deserved to know the truth. Clara’s been seeing Daniel for months. Everyone knows but you.”
Johnson had been devastated. Wrecked. He’d confronted Clara over the phone, refusing to see her in person, unable to bear looking at her lying face.
“It’s not what you think!” Clara had cried. “Johnson, please, just let me explain.”
“Explain what?” he’d shouted. “I’ve seen the photos, Clara. I’m not an idiot.”
“Those photos are fake! Or taken out of context! Daniel is just a friend from college who was in town. We had coffee, one time, and someone must have…”..
