Chapter 3 - Two Little Girls Named Hope and Holly
Nolan did not confront Wade immediately.
Ten years earlier, he would have.
At thirty-two, Nolan had believed power meant acting quickly.
At forty-two, he had learned that anger could destroy evidence faster than fire.
So he went home.
Not to the penthouse he shared occasionally with Claire.
To his private apartment overlooking the lake.
He sat at the dining table until midnight with Maya’s photograph of the courier receipt enlarged on his laptop.
W. DALTON.
There was no ambiguity.
He searched his archived emails from the week the package arrived.
Nothing.
Then internal office records.
His executive floor logged all courier deliveries.
At 9:12 a.m., a package from Maya Bennett had arrived.
At 9:14, Wade Dalton signed for it.
At 9:18, the entry was manually closed.
By Wade’s assistant.
Nolan leaned back.
Why?
He called his head of corporate security, Marcus Hale.
Marcus answered on the third ring.
“It’s Christmas.”
“I know.”
“My wife says billionaires are the reason normal people hate phones.”
“She’s probably right.”
“What do you need?”
Nolan told him.
Not everything.
Just enough.
“I need every executive-floor visitor and courier record from June two years ago.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Can you get it?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t tell anyone.”
Marcus became serious.
“Anyone includes Wade?”
“Especially Wade.”
That silence told Nolan Marcus understood the significance.
“I’ll send you everything tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
Marcus sighed.
“I really dislike you.”
“Understood.”
Nolan ended the call.
His phone rang immediately afterward.
Claire.
He stared at her name before answering.
“Hi.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He closed his eyes.
“They’re mine.”
Claire was silent.
Nolan heard faint music in the background.
His family Christmas gathering was apparently continuing without him.
“Are you sure?” Claire asked.
“She says they are.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Nolan understood.
“No test yet.”
“But you believe her.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Claire asked, “What are their names?”
“Holly and Hope.”
Her breath caught.
“That’s very Christmas.”
“They were supposed to be born in August.”
“Oh.”
“Hope was in neonatal care.”
Claire was silent again.
Nolan rubbed his forehead.
“I missed everything.”
“Yes.”
He appreciated that she didn’t soften it.
“She says Wade came to her apartment after we broke up.”
Claire’s tone changed.
“What?”
“He told her I didn’t want contact.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“But at the time—”
“I was angry. Suspicious. Stupid. But I never sent him to her.”
Nolan looked at the courier receipt.
“She also sent me a letter after the girls were born.”
“You didn’t get it?”
“Wade signed for it.”
Claire exhaled slowly.
“Nolan.”
“I know.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Maya say?”
“Pictures. Information about the girls. Probably more.”
“You need to find that letter.”
“I plan to.”
Claire was quiet.
Then said, “I’m staying with my sister tonight.”
Nolan had expected that.
“Okay.”
“I need space.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know what this means for us.”
“I understand that too.”
“Do you?”
“No,” Nolan admitted. “Probably not yet.”
Claire gave a sad laugh.
“At least that’s honest.”
After they ended the call, Nolan stared at the dark lake.
At 1:36 a.m., Marcus emailed him.
SUBJECT: RECORDS.
Nolan opened the attachment.
Most of the data meant nothing.
Then one entry caught his attention.
Three days after Wade had signed for Maya’s package, Wade used his executive badge to access Nolan’s private office at 11:47 p.m.
He remained inside for seventeen minutes.
Nolan had been in New York that night.
Another record showed Wade accessing the executive shred room immediately afterward.
Nolan stood.
He was suddenly certain the letter was gone.
But Maya had kept everything.
Maybe she had copies.
The next morning was December 26.
At 8:03 Nolan texted Maya.
I found the office record. Wade signed for your package.
No answer.
At 8:41:
I’m not asking you to trust me. But I need to know what was inside.
At 9:17 Maya replied.
Why?
Because I think he destroyed it.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
There were six photos, birth certificates, medical information, and a letter.
Nolan stared.
What did the letter say?
This time, Maya took eleven minutes.
Then:
That you could meet them if you wanted to. No money. No lawyers. No conditions. I just wanted you to know they existed.
Nolan put the phone down.
He walked to the window.
For two years he had told himself Maya disappeared.
She hadn’t.
She had opened the door.
Someone else had closed it.
But the first door had been slammed by Nolan himself.
That distinction mattered.
At 10:04, another message arrived.
Maya:
I still have a copy.
Nolan:
Will you show me?
No response.
Then:
Maybe.
Later that afternoon, Maya called.
“The girls are napping.”
Nolan sat up immediately.
“Okay.”
“I don’t know why I told you that.”
“Because I asked about them yesterday.”
“I’m not used to anyone asking.”
The sentence hurt.
Nolan kept his voice calm.
“How are they?”
Maya sighed.
“Holly is determined to climb every object taller than six inches. Hope has decided bananas are offensive.”
Nolan smiled despite himself.
“I hate bananas.”
“I remember.”
“You do?”
“I remember everything. That’s part of the problem.”
Silence.
Then Nolan asked, “Can you tell me about them?”
Maya hesitated.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Start somewhere.”
So she did.
Holly had spoken first.
Her first word was “light,” because she pointed constantly at lamps.
Hope’s first word had been “Mama.”
Holly loved dogs.
Hope hated elevators.
Both girls loved music.
Neither liked peas.
They slept holding the same stuffed rabbit between their cribs.
Nolan listened without interrupting.
At one point Maya realized she had been talking for nearly ten minutes.
She stopped.
“I should go.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me.”
Her voice softened.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question surprised him.
“Because they’re my daughters.”
“That didn’t matter before.”
Nolan closed his eyes.
“No.”
Maya waited.
He said, “And I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
No response.
Then a tiny voice sounded in the background.
“Mama!”
Maya inhaled.
Nolan’s entire body went still.
Another little voice followed.
“Mama! Mama!”
Nolan had heard his daughters for the first time.
He pressed his lips together.
Maya said, “I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“Nolan?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I won’t.”
The call ended.
Nolan remained motionless for several minutes.
That evening, his mother called.
“Your grandmother says you’re hiding something.”
“My grandmother says everyone is hiding something.”
“She’s usually right.”
“Mom—”
“Are you in trouble?”
Nolan almost laughed.
“Yes.”
Margaret became serious.
“What happened?”
He knew he couldn’t tell her yet.
Not until Maya agreed.
“There’s something I need to understand first.”
“Nolan.”
“I’ll tell you soon.”
His mother sighed.
“Whatever it is, don’t make the mistake your father used to make.”
“What mistake?”
“Thinking difficult conversations become easier if you postpone them.”
After she hung up, Nolan realized Maya had taught him the same lesson.
He texted her.
Can I see the copy of the letter?
An hour later Maya sent him an address.
Tomorrow. 11 a.m.
It was not her home.
It was Lakeshore Family Resource Center.
When Nolan arrived the next morning, Maya waited inside a small office.
On the desk sat a pale blue envelope.
His name was written across the front.
Nolan Reed.
Maya pushed it toward him.
“My copy.”
His hand hovered over it.
“You wrote this eighteen months ago?”
“Yes.”
He opened the envelope.
Inside were photocopies of six photographs.
Two tiny babies.
Hospital bracelets.
Little knitted caps.
Maya beside an incubator, exhausted and smiling.
Nolan stopped breathing.
His daughters.
He touched one photograph carefully.
Holly’s hand wrapped around Maya’s finger.
Hope slept beneath a pink blanket.
At the bottom was the letter.
Nolan unfolded it.
He read slowly.
Maya had written that the girls were healthy despite being premature.
That she did not want money.
That she would never force him to be involved.
But that one day, Holly and Hope might ask who their father was.
She did not want to tell them he had never been given the opportunity to know them.
At the end, one sentence made Nolan close his eyes.
If you choose not to respond, I will never contact you again. But please understand that this is the last time I will ask you to believe me.
Nolan lowered the letter.
Maya sat across from him.
“You never answered.”
“I never saw it.”
“I know that now.”
He looked at the hospital photograph again.
“May I keep these?”
Maya hesitated.
Then shook her head.
“Not yet.”
He nodded.
Fair.
She gathered the pictures.
One slipped from her hand and landed faceup.
The twins at approximately six months old.
Both smiling.
Both with Reed dimples.
Nolan stared.
Then Maya quietly said, “They look more like you when they’re angry.”
He almost smiled.
“Unfortunately, that also runs in the family.”
Maya’s mouth twitched.
It wasn’t quite a smile.
But it was the first hint of one.
Then someone knocked.
A staff member opened the door.
“Maya, there’s a gentleman asking for you.”
“Who?”
The woman looked uncomfortable.
“He says his name is Wade Dalton.”
Nolan and Maya froze.
Neither had told Wade where they were.
Yet he had found them.
May you like
And suddenly Nolan understood that whatever Wade had done two years ago might not be finished.
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